


His last muse

by Supernova12



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Artist Sherlock, Figure Drawing, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Model John, Teacher Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, very light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-06-02 03:12:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 50,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6548332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supernova12/pseuds/Supernova12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock, recently graduated from "Baker's Art College", is working there as a figure drawing teacher to support himself financially and pay off his student loans as he gets on his feet as a professional artist.<br/>John, recently invalided from Afghanistan, is working as a figure drawing model for Art classes when he ends up in Sherlock's class...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So it's been a while since i've posted anything-- college is busy. And I had planned to pose a princelock or a potterlock but..... this idea came into my head and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it so- here we go
> 
> This is my third fic ever so again: Im still new at this and PLEASE PLEASE be nice to me haha. Im very nervous. 
> 
> I'm still finishing up my semester so Im not sure what the update schedule will be-- god knows why I decided to start writing so close to finals but-- procrastination! 
> 
> Anyway-- without further ado... figuredrawinglock!

 

The clock on the wall chimed four times; the sound slicing through the tense silence in the darkness of the rooms. The only string of light came from the slightly ajar door at the end of the hallway, where the artist was hunched over his canvas and staring at it in complete stone-stillness.

His raven hair was a messy array of curls that bounced in every direction as if he had coursed his hands through it ceaselessly throughout the night. This would, of course, explain the slight smears of red and blue inside the folds of some of the untamed curls. His neck and hands had not been spared from the paint either, as streaks of color were stuck in a shocking contrast to the pale and creamy skin. Funnily enough, he was not wearing baggy clothes that could be stained or ruined with the grease from his oil paints or the dark charcoal dust, but instead, he wore a perfectly clean and smooth dress shirt. The clothing was pristine, unlike his skin, and if not for the slight movement of his breathing it would’ve looked like a well dressed, painted mannequin in the middle of a store.

This artist was Sherlock Holmes. And currently, he was trying desperately to figure out how to perfect his latest painting.

He had been staring at it for about two hours now without moving a single muscle. The playlist of classical music he had been playing in the background was by now long finished and the daylight streaming through the open blinds no longer draped across the wooden floors and the striped green and white wallpaper.

Sherlock was quite used to having nights like these where he would not sleep at all trying to finish up a painting, or because he had far too many ideas and he simply had to sketch them all before he inevitably overthought them all and ended up doing absolutely nothing but stare intently at one of his many sketchbooks.

Most of the subjects he painted or drew were people. It was simply because that was his most preferred subject. He loved painting people had seen on the street as much as he loved making up different ones in his mind and coming up with entire backstories for their lives. The subjects he had seen in person also had their backstories, but these were ones Sherlock had not made up on his own but had observed on them.

Ever since he was a child he had been able to see and take in much more than almost everyone around him. His brother had been gifted with the same type of ability but he, instead of applying it into his passions, decided to grow his intelligence into the world of politics and use it as a way of manipulating people into doing exactly as he pleased.

Sherlock, on the other hand, had considered going into science and perhaps even becoming a detective on the long run. He had always been able to know when the police made grave mistakes in the news he often saw up on the telly. When he was younger he had often called and given them tips but after being shut down over and over again and not taken seriously he figured he should start looking for some other way to call their attention. He began drawing diagrams of the various crimes seen he had seen on-screen, utilizing the visual representations to explain how he had come to the many conclusions and deductions in who had committed the crimes and how.

Over the years he had sent many letters with his drawing and depictions of the crimes but he never received any sort of thanks or even acknowledgment that they were taking his thoughts into consideration. Surprisingly, the thought was not as discouraging or heartbreaking as it would have been years before when he was desperate for the police’s attention. He then came to realize that the reason he was not going out of his mind in boredom was because he had discovered the way to let out his overwhelming amount of thoughts... through drawing. And as the years passed and his drawing became more concise and perfected the police started acknowledging him. They even began sending him case files and he started receiving phone calls from them asking for help.

Sherlock found that in a single facial expression he could depict the entire family history of a  heartbroken widow he had observed on the street. With a smoothly downturned collar and mismatched tie he drew on a middle-aged man he could represent an entire career in business and recent marriage problems. Sherlock came to realize that a way to make his mind stop buzzing with the overload of knowledge he could perceive in every passing stranger was to let it all out. He let out the deductions and experiences into pictures, images, sketches, silhouettes and paintings.

He drew the cool and soft hands of his mother, lightly touching his forehead when she had thought he was sick so many mornings when he was younger and would do anything not to go to school to avoid his bullies. He drew her tightly pulled ponytail at the top of her head that always ended up messy as her hair was not long enough and strands of it would gently fall and frame her thin face. He drew her kind blue eyes that he longed to never see cry again after his father left them for another woman and another family. All of this he drew in a single portrait the day he moved out to pursue his dream in art school.

With experience, Sherlock learned to process every bit of information he saw and he learned which ones would be the most fascinating and challenging to draw and paint. Art school had been a challenge. Not because his mother did not approve, she approved of anything and everything that made him happy. Mycroft did not play any role in this either as he, although did disapprove of Sherlock’s ‘interesting’ career choice, Sherlock could not care less what his brother thought of him. No, Sherlock found art school both liberating and frustrating. Liberating because he could do what he loved every second of every day; frustrating because no matter how many people he saw...No matter how many projects he was assigned in class or he assigned himself he could not fill the void that called for… something.

Therein was the problem

Something inside him was screaming at him for a subject. Someone or something he longed to draw but what? Or who? He had never come to know. So he kept drawing trying to find it.

His ‘part time job’ as a crime solver for the incompetents at Scotland Yard such as his usual correspondent ‘G. Lestrade’ helped make the void not seem so empty, and along with drawing he felt almost complete… but not quite. Something was missing. And if Sherlock knew where to find it he would go in a heartbeat.

Eventually, he had graduated from Baker’s Art College with honors and an immense amount of talent but  without finding that one thing he yearned for.

Of course, Art school had not been cheap. And his mother, raising two boys single-handedly simply could not support Sherlock as he tried to make a name for himself in the vast world of art. His style, as well as his personality, had never been completely understood this world. He did not find this completely surprising as at an early age he had learned that ‘normal people’ did not feel a need to quiet their minds due to the incessant buzzing and incoming information per second. So after college Sherlock had found himself a teaching job for figure drawing lessons at his old college while he paid off his loans and he worked on his gallery showings and worked for Scotland yard on the sidelines for free. Teaching for him was easy money and he did enjoy it to a certain extent.

He loved what he did. Not just because he felt free and happy in his own world but because it made his world quiet down even for just one moment.

 

The woman in the painting kept staring at Sherlock expectantly. His brow furrowed with every passing minute as he stared back. The chime of the clock signaling four in the morning had removed a part of his mind from the trance-like state he had been immersed in and already he could feel his back screaming in protest at being held in this same position for such a long time. The woman stared some more, silently challenging him with her dark brown eyes. He sighed, shattering the tense silence as he straightened up from his crouch with a pained groan. It was hopeless. This painting would not be finished tonight…. well, this morning he supposed.

He blinked a couple of times and felt the sharp sting of dryness. He really should put little reminders in his mind palace to blink once in awhile when he got lost in there, he thought. He looked back at the woman in the painting one last time just to check it had not magically figured itself out while he was relaxing. Nope. Same mint green jumper. Same inky black hair down to her waist. The military tags around her neck were still engraved with the name of her deceased brother, the slight rust on the edges betraying her often clutch of it to relieve her anxiousness and grief. The eyes and mouth, however, said nothing. He frowned at them, willing them to betray her distrust in every other family member and their disrespect for her sexual orientation and her choice of career. Sherlock had caught a glimpse of her only for a moment when he had been walking down the street to buy some cigarettes but the single glimpse of the fast walking woman and the quarter of a second eye contact were enough to send Sherlock flying back to his studio and sketchbook. Something was missing from his painting, though. Although it was a fascinating subject, it still did not do enough to fill Sherlock’s mind.

With resignation to finish this painting tonight in his mind, he quickly cleaned his paint brushes with turpenoid (he detested the smell of turpentine), stretched his arms and neck and headed to take a bath before he had to head out for work. After all, all those student loans, the apartment rent (even when halved by his darling landlady Mrs.Hudson) and the gas and electricity bills would not pay themselves.

His job as a figure drawing teacher was interesting enough, he thought, as he could observe the students and the models and their behavior for several hours at a time. Maybe he’d find the missing link in this painting while he was at it- ‘ _and besides_ ,’ he thought, ‘  _a new model will be coming in today... What was his name again? Ah.. John Watson_.’

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two!! Im getting really into writing this story so I hope it sets well with you guys <3<3<3 Thanks so much for being so sweet <3<3
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting!! <3<3<3 Hopefully ch3 will take less than a week to post.

 

Sherlock walked into his classroom with little energy. Although he was not a stranger to lack of sleep, he had to admit that sleeping sporadically over a period of more than 3 weeks was definitely not helping him concentrate. He rose the coffee he was clutching in one hand to his lips and sighed in pleasure as the hot liquid warmed his insides and spurred some new energy into his body. Bless Mrs.Hudson for always making him a cup of coffee to-go every single morning without fail. That woman was a saint.

He was, as usual, ridiculously early for his 7 am class, so he took his time to arrange the canvases around the platform where he would ask the model to pose, and started figuring out what he wanted to do with the lightning today. His models usually preferred standing up poses throughout the first half of the day and after the hour long lunch break they would agree to horizontal and sitting down poses. Not really surprising, as the energy in the room buzzed down to a calm lull of concentration after the frenzied energetic inspiration of the morning. 5-hour classes would do that for everyone. So he put the chair aside for now so the model could position himself anywhere on the stage and started setting up the overhead lights.

He stopped in his tracks as he realised he had never seen the model before so he was not sure what lighting would benefit the figure and how it was perceived in all angles of the classroom. He was not used to having new models as there were always very rare in the school’s old system. By now Sherlock knew every single one of them inside out, not just their bodies but their stories and backgrounds. Not that they liked that he knew that very much. No doubt by now the agency and the models had warned the new guy about Sherlock and his tendency to spew out their entire life stories while they posed and shifted under the glaring light of the lamps. Sherlock smirked, already excited about having a fresh new body to unearth secrets from. What you could perceive from staring at someone for hours could not compare to single glances on the busy streets of London.

Sherlock positioned all the lights near the platform so he could arrange them when the model arrived. He then walked back to his desk and took out all his drawing materials as well as the attendance list and a small notebook. He still had an entire half hour to spare before the students would start trickling in so he flipped through his sketchbook and found some old drawing he could polish to later make into paintings for his upcoming gallery.

Soon enough the students started coming in, carrying their massive sketchbooks and newspaper print paper inside their portfolios. Molly Hooper, as always, was the first one to enter the classroom, coffee in hand and a big smile on her face that contrasted completely with the fatigued looks on the rest of her classmates' sleep-deprived faces. He looked down at his attendance list and ticked the box for today’s class on the row of her name, smirking as she maintained her perfect attendance record while balancing being the most talented student from his class.

Molly set her things down and went to the other side of the classroom to pick a wooden board to set on her easel so she could pin the sheets of paper up with some board clips, the rest of the students quickly followed her lead as they slowly rose out of their sleepy states under the bright lights of the classroom. Sherlock ticked off the names as he caught sight of each student; Phil Anderson, Sally Donovan, Mary Morstan, Paul Dunstan, Kate Halstead, Janine Hawkins and Mike Stamford. “Perfect attendance,” Sherlock thought, raising a brow, “they must have heard about the new model”. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one feeling the tediousness of having the same 15 ones over and over again. It was a small class compared to most of the ones in the school as a whole but then again students tended to drop Sherlock’s classes after the first few test weeks when they noticed most of his teaching method involved completely tearing apart the method with which they drew, observed, moved their hand, held the graphite pencil or charcoal, shifted weight, and basically any other thing he could possibly criticise about their drawing methods. This semester 8 students had stuck with him, a larger number than ever and he was cautiously optimistic about... most of them.

Anderson for example, would clearly not pass if he kept up this rate. Sherlock knew, of course, he had only taken the class to warm up to Sally, judging by the fact that he always chose the easel next to hers and even in the dead silence of the room when they drew the model he would always be either whispering comments or flirty attempts at jokes at Sally over his shoulder. Not to mention he kept messing up his drawings because he was busy staring at her neck and behind instead of staring at the model. What bothered Sherlock most about this was not just the fact that Anderson clearly had a girlfriend he planned on cheating on with Sally, or the fact that he was interrupting his classes.. but the fact that Sally was ACTUALLY falling for it. For ANDERSON! Sherlock could not possibly understand the college students of today. Not that he really understood them anyway when he was in college 2 years ago.

Sherlock sighed as ticked the boxes next to both their names. He looked around as everyone finished up setting up for the day and then glanced at his watch. 6:58. Any minute now. He took a swig from his cup of coffee and relished in the relative silence of the class before the day began and the students built up their energy for the day.

 

The door opened.

 

The entire class, including Sherlock, looked up from what they were doing to catch their first glimpse of the new model and were met with the kind eyes of John Watson. His body, however, did not say kind at all. He was a short man there was no denying, no taller than 1.70m, but he was extremely well built and stocky. His entire upper body screamed military as well as the way he held himself when he paused to adjust his bag and take in his surroundings when he walked in. Sherlock swallowed as he took in the rest of the man. He was balancing his weight on a cane but his entire posture was upright as if he was carrying it as an accessory instead of necessity. When he started walking again Sherlock noticed the complete shift as he put his weight onto the cane and limped forward, ‘ _Ah. At least partly psychosomatic limp them_.’ he thought to himself.  His skin was still fairly tan, so he clearly had returned from action not too long ago, and his golden hair was bleached from the sun. Sherlock calculated him between 24 and 25 years of age. John Watson did not seem to notice the fact that everyone was staring at him in utter awe. The man was truly beautiful.

He paused as he took in the fact that the room was deadly silent.

“Umm… hello. Am I… in the right classroom?”

Sherlock shook himself out of his trance “John Watson?” he asked

“Yes” John grinned, looking relieved

“Great. We’ll begin immediately if that’s alright with you. The changing screen is over there” he motioned towards the left corner of the room with his head, trying not to blush at John’s easy going smile. Why had his pulse suddenly elevated?

John nodded “Absolutely.”

Sherlock quickly looked around the room, almost every student was staring dazedly at John’s hobbling figure towards the left side of the room. So clearly Sherlock was just having a natural reaction to John’s strong presence. Clearly.

The buzz of conversation in the room slowly started to pick up to where it had left off before John had arrived.

The overload of information on John was absolutely **buzzing** through Sherlock’s head and as John disappeared beneath the black panels of the changing screen he scribbled down some notes on his first impression. He rarely got this much information from a single look.

 

-extensive military experience

-invalided from either Afghanistan or Iraq

-24-25 years of age

-Army Doctor

-Money issues

-possible six pack

 

Sherlock stared at his last one. He.. did not intend to write that. He frowned and erased it quickly as if he was being observed. He shook his head and placed his pencil back on the paper to keep on writing his observations on John

The sound of John’s zipper tore through the air. Sherlock snapped the pencil tip. ‘ _What the hell?_ ’ Sherlock blinked. What was wrong with him? ‘ _Maybe the lack of sleep is getting to me..’_

Sherlock tried not to look but his eyes shifted to his left where he could see slivers of John’s skin through the thin gaps between the wooden plates of the screen. ‘ _Stop it.’_ He looked back to his page. This room was far too hot. Wasn’t the air conditioning on?

He could hear the faint shifting and whispering of the falling cloth from John’s body but he made himself look straight onto his page even though he was no longer writing anything. Eventually, John walked out from behind wearing the black robe the models were given as an option to wear before they climbed onto the platform and assumed a pose they chose to begin the drawing session. Sherlock had expected John to walk out using his cane but the blonde had left it behind with his folded clothes and was now limping slightly towards the platform. The limp wasn’t as noticeable as Sherlock thought it would be judging on how much John seemed to be relying on it when walking but clearly, it was definitely a subconscious thing. He COULD see John wincing very slightly from the imagined pain but the limp wasn’t very prominent in his walk.

He stopped in front of the platform and turned to Sherlock. “So.. should I just start then?” he asked smiling.  

“Yes. I should think so. We’ll start with 3-minute gesture poses and then with half hour ones. Would you rather do standing up poses in this morning session or in the afternoon session?” Sherlock asked, not making eye contact but pleased that his voice sounded completely natural and calm. He stood up from his chair and walked over next to John who was stepping onto the platform at the centre of the room. The students were also beginning to get up from their stools and were stretching their arms or choosing charcoal for the gesture poses in the first hour.

“I think I’d rather do standing now. Get it over with.” he positioned himself in the centre of the stage and started untying his robe. Sherlock busied himself with the lights, placing the around the stage, some overhead and some below, and finally when he felt the air rush past from John dropping the robe and swinging it onto the floor off of the platform Sherlock knew that he had to adjust the lighting to John’s body so he took a breath, and looked up.

To say ‘probably six pack’ had been a complete understatement. John was… absolutely ripped. Sherlock had to blink at least four times before the alarms in his mind palace could be silenced from the seconds of internal panic and the rush of blood not knowing whether to go upwards and pool in his already flaming cheeks or… lower. And now that he observed John without a shirt one of the first things that his eye was drawn to was the messy and extensive scar that spread in the blonde’s right shoulder. So clearly he had linked the pain of the bullet tearing through him onto his leg instead of his shoulder. And judging by the scar the wound had not been painless at all.

When the thought rushed back into Sherlock’s head he straightened up and tried to observe John’s body objectively as to know where to position the lights. He moved the two lower lights and positioned them at his sides to emphasise the toned V shape emerging from John’s thighs and placed one of the overhead ones tilted and directed at the right side of John’s head as to make do with the fascinating bullet scar he could see at the top of the shoulder. That same light also helped bounce through John’s collarbones and his.. various abdominals. Sherlock tried not to think too hard about that one. He tried his best not to clear his throat too obviously, knowing that it would give away at least part of his awkward inner turmoil.

Finally, he turned off the second overhead light, enjoying a deeper contrast with the last of light on the left side of his body. He stepped back and look at John. Stepped to the other side of the platform and stared again. He nodded to himself a couple of times before his eyes unconsciously drifted up to John’s. His gaze was met with John’s deep blue eyes instantly. He looked slightly amused at how seriously Sherlock was taking the lighting of his body. Sherlock blinked away and walked back to his desk, trying his best not to notice the fact that he could still feel John’s gaze follow him back.  

As soon as Sherlock had sat back down he looked back at John, who was now turned away to look at a far wall in the distance. Sherlock counted the seconds in his head for 3 minutes and when they were up he opened his mouth to let John know it was time to switch but the second he opened it John was already shifting into a new pose. Impressed, Sherlock took a note of his on his notebook and observed as the students began scrambling to unclip their newspaper print papers from the drawing boards to get the second pose as fast as they could. Sherlock smiled, enjoying how the first part of the day was always the fastest one. Even when the students walked in looking tired as soon as the gesture poses began they all focused solely on their drawings, trying to get the weight of the body, the anatomy, and the scale right on their paper in the mere 180 seconds they had. The occasional squeak of charcoal on paper resounded through the room but aside from that the room was completely silent.

Every 3 minutes John switched poses, each one standing but all completely different. Even though John had clearly taken this job to make ends meet after he came back when he was invalided from the army he obviously took it very seriously and had rapidly become a professional. He played with his weight in very interesting poses and gave everyone around the room interesting angles from his body and plays on how the human body bent and moved. Sherlock very rarely drew along with his students, only when he absolutely knew his students could draw for a long time unsupervised. And he never drew along with them in the gesture poses, always wanting the students to feel his watchful gaze in the first half hour of the class to make sure they wouldn’t slack off later on during the day. But this time, Sherlock felt himself itching towards his pencil. He didn’t pick it up. But it was extremely difficult not to.

Soon enough, all ten poses were up and Sherlock granted the class a ten-minute break and instructed them to pin up the best of their gesture pose drawings so the other students could survey them quickly to see each other’s progress. During this first break, most students left the room to get a quick breakfast from the school’s cafeteria and the model usually left for a quick coffee or tea break. John, surprising as he was turning out to be, just reached for his robe, slipped it on and tied the string loosely around his waist. He then climbed off and carefully sat down, wincing slightly in pain before his face relaxed as his weight eased off his injured leg. Sherlock bit the inside of his lip, fighting off the urge to ask John if he was feeling alright. Why did he even care? John was just another model. Granted an interesting one but he didn’t even know the man. But as John stretched his arms over his head and grunted in satisfaction Sherlock found himself completely immersed.

“Are you alright?”

Both John and Sherlock turned towards the source of the voice.

Mary Morstan was leaning against her easel, delicately holding her pencils in one hand and the other one in her hair, a finger curling one blonde lock around. She was looking at John through her thick eyelashes and smiling. Sherlock felt himself frown.

“Oh, yeah ‘m fine” John smiled

“Sports injury?” Mary murmured, licking her lips and her gaze slipping down to John’s uncovered legs.

“Oh. Uh.. no. Not sports… injury” John shrugged “You uh- You didn’t want to get some breakfast before the long poses?” he asked, clearly looking to change the topic. So the military service and thus caused injury were a sore subject, thought Sherlock, interesting. He just wished he didn’t have to find out these things through Mary. He sniffed, trying to block out the conversation that they were now having. John was clearly much less into it than Mary was but then again Mary was clearly flirting and John was a little uncomfortable with the attention.

Mary was very beautiful, neck length blonde hair, always perfectly straightened and sharp dark blue eyes. Even without any kind of inkling to be interested in women Sherlock knew when someone was conventionally beautiful. But, observing John now he could tell that the problem was not that John was put off by her appearance or even by her flirtatious words, which to be honest were pretty kind even when slightly inappropriate in this setting.

Then it had to be… oh. The age difference of course. John was, as Sherlock had calculated around 25 years of age and Mary was still a freshman college student, a young one at that being only barely 18. So clearly John was not bothered by the attention of a female, he was just bothered by the age difference.

Sherlock turned around, wondering why it bothered him that it wasn’t the “female attention” that John did not seek.

Now they were talking about Mary’s drawings. She was motioning towards her line work while John was nodding, clearly impressed but still uncomfortable with talking about his naked body with her. He nodded along to her words and started circling the room, quietly observing everyone’s drawing while Mary followed behind him, still talking about.. something (Sherlock couldn’t be bothered to listen) while John answered politely.

A lot of the models surveyed the drawings during their breaks, something Sherlock usually did not even think about twice. But for some reason, he found John’s clear admiration towards the talent of his students very endearing to watch. The sudden urge to show John his own drawings was suddenly completely overpowering. He turned his back to them, trying to block them out again and shaking the ridiculous thought from his mind.

Eventually as the ten minutes of the break ticked by the rest of the class trickled back in, all holding half drunk coffee cups in their hands and looking significantly more ready to tackle on their drawings for the rest of the day. John and Mary were still talking, from what Sherlock gathered John was a very friendly and approachable person, laughing at Mary’s jokes and responding politely to everything. Nevertheless, he could also tell that John wasn’t an open person, nothing he said revealed anything personal about himself and he preferred to listen much more than talk. But then again these observations were made by only observing John talk to one individual, one whose interest he was not seeking for.

“Alright, everyone stop slacking and get back behind your easels” Sherlock called out.

Mary smiled one last time at John, flicking her hair back with a delicate wrist movement. John cleared his throat, more out of discomfort than anything, noted Sherlock. _Why does this even matter?_ Sherlock berated himself.

“John” Sherlock called out

The blonde immediately straightened and looked over at Sherlock, a smile already colouring his expression.  

“We’re going to start this with the standing 30-minute poses. Please choose a comfortable position and try not to move too much” he instructed coldly, barely even looking in his direction. Just because this particular model had somehow captured his attention that did not mean that by any means he would treat him any different than the other models.

Instead of acting offended, however, John just chuckled and stood up onto the platform “Aye aye!” he said cheerily, untying his robe and letting it fall to the ground. He shifted a couple of times, testing out poses before he picked one where he was leaning onto his more stable leg, bending one arm behind his band as if in an armlock and twisting the other one upwards into his hair.

Sherlock nodded in silent approval of the chosen pose and pressed the timer for the half hour on his phone on.

He stood. Now was the time to survey the way his students were getting along with their drawings. John watched him walk around the room, not moving a single muscle but his eyes and Sherlock smirked, clearly he was expecting Sherlock to say something about the talented students he had before him but Sherlock decided to instead say,

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

 

John’s pose didn’t change at all but Sherlock could perfectly distinguish the immediate tension in his back muscles. Sherlock’s students had almost no reaction, clearly used to having their teacher spew out deductions for the model before them. But Sherlock could see them observing John’s scar much more closely.

“Sorry?”

“Which was it?”

“Uhh… Afghanistan. How did you-”

Sherlock smirked “I just observed” he shrugged

He expected John to scoff but he just looked more confused “The other models said you do that. But I haven’t even put my info on the website. There’s no way you could have known that”

“They think I read their background info on the website?” Sherlock laughed “Of course not”

“Oh… so how did you-?”

“I told you. I observed. There’s plenty of evidence.”

John stance tensed even more. His eyes shifted to his scar.

“No no. Even without the wound, it was plain to see. I knew from the moment you walked into class. Obvious really. From the manner in which you hold yourself, from the difference in tan in your face and arms onto where the skin shifted in the neckline, plus the psychosomatic limp”

John blinked, his mouth agape “Psychosomatic?”

“Clearly. You clearly handle yourself somewhat well without cane walking, you seem to forget about the cane completely in stand still and clearly, you can hold your weight comfortably while modelling, almost as if the pain completely disappears which is not something that would happen if the pain was even partly psychosomatic. So, clearly, the pain is at least partly if not mostly imagined”

John snorted. Not what Sherlock expected at all “Still hurts” he muttered good-naturedly, huffing a bit.

Sherlock smiled, unsure

“That was… amazing” John continued. His muscles had completely relaxed and he was smiling, his eyes shining with surprise and was that… admiration? ‘ _Of course not’_ Sherlock thought ‘ _It couldn’t be’_

“Was it?” Sherlock shrugged, his eyes going back to his student's drawings as John’s eyes followed him around the room

“Of course it was! I’d… never seen someone do that before. That was incredible!”

“Simple really” Sherlock mumbled, a little overwhelmed. No one had ever responded positively to his deductions. Usually, the models muttered something confirming Sherlock’s observations and then proceeded to avoid his gaze and respond coldly to him for the rest of the day. And here John was on his very first day and Sherlock had just revealed pretty delicate information about him without a second thought and John was… praising him?

  
“Simple?” John’s eyebrows rose. He looked away from Sherlock’s walking figure and onto the back wall to avoid turning his head and moving from his pose. “Well, you must be pretty smart then," he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course Sherlock's smitten from the very beginning. And of course he has no idea.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im sorry this took so long. Life got in the way and I had a very hard time with this chapter- not sure why. Anyway, thank you so much for reading and commenting. Please be nice to me, i'm scared haha
> 
> I'll try to be more consistent with the next few updates

For the rest of that first half hour pose, Sherlock walked around the room silently observing the students.

 

He and John had spoken a little more about Sherlock’s deductions and his military background, eye contact completely uninterrupted and more… intense than what was usually socially acceptable between strangers, but it had not felt uncomfortable at all. That was until Sherlock noticed the lack of sounds of graphite scratching the paper and he had turned to his students to demand why everyone had stopped drawing in favour of staring at them and for them to please continue and focus on the model before them, that’s why they were paying for college was it not? Everyone had instantly snapped back into their drawings and John’s muffled laughter was the only sounds accompanying the scurried scratches of pencils in tandem 

For this first pose, Sherlock was not saying anything to his students, mentally listing everything they were doing wrong but not wanting to say anything this early on in the class. Every now and then his gaze would flicker to John, expecting him to have moved or for his arms to start cramping up from the pose he had chosen. But John was perfectly still, his eyes had drifted closed but aside from that, not a single muscle looked out of place. Sherlock’s eyebrows rose, impressed with John’s clear comfort in maintaining stillness for a long amount of time. But now that he thought about it, he must have had a lot of practice with that in the military service.

 Sherlock didn’t even notice time going by until the sharp ringing of his alarm cut through the still concentrated silence of the room. Instantly all the students sighed as they relaxed and began stretching. John’s eyes opened and he wincingly kneeled himself down into a sitting pose again. Sherlock walked back to his desk to turn off the alarm, already planning how to make further conversation with John in this second 10-minute break before the final drawing session before lunch. But before he could think of anything he turned and saw John was already talking to some of his students. All of them clearly having found John’s history in the military service fascinating. Molly, Mike and Mary were huddled around asking him questions enthusiastically. Mary had gone back to curling her hair around her finger, much to Sherlock’s annoyance.

 Trying not to eavesdrop too much Sherlock sat behind his desk and scribbled furiously into his notebook about everything more he had learnt about John. Instantly the contrast between the notes about John and the notes about every other model Sherlock had ever had in his classroom was absolutely massive. Other models never expanded on Sherlock’s views, never reacted with admiration let alone curiosity as to how Sherlock had figured them out. Sherlock did not understand why John was different than them and why he did not seem to be scared or angered by Sherlock’s observations. 

“Okay. Enough now. Back to work. It's time for the second pose now, John” he clapped his hands once, calling for the classes attention. No one really left the room for this second break so everyone just raised their gazes from their phones or stopped their friendly conversation with John and walked back to their drawings, changing the pages carefully as to not tear them in the process.

Sherlock braced himself for the scolding. There was always scolding to do.

It was clear that his class was bracing themselves too, everyone trying to be 100% focused on their drawing and gaining momentum in their graphite strokes on the paper. Even Anderson had granted Sherlock the honour of tearing his gaze away from Sally’s waist and was squinting at his drawing as if willing it to look exactly like John.

 Not a pin drop could be heard as Sherlock walked around behind them, hands grasped in each other behind his back and peered at everyone’s drawings. His first lap had only a couple of tut’s so that the students would know to fix whatever they could before his second lap. Molly received a single nod in her direction, and Anderson received an exasperated sigh.

“Anderson. What the hell is this?” Sherlock motioned towards the drawing. “You’re sketching! You’re sketching on me! It’s week 6 of the semester and you’re STILL sketching on me? Move over”

Anderson moved without a single word, but he was still glowering at Sherlock’s back. Sherlock positioned himself in front of the drawing and grabbed Anderson’s pencil and began sketching on top of it in beautiful singular lines that completely contrasted Anderson’s hatch work of scribbled contours.  

“Look at this. This is preposterous. I’ve been telling you for almost two months that you do NOT separate the pencil from the paper. CONTINUOUS LINE. This is the only way to measure. Look at this elephant head you’ve given poor John”

Sally snickered 

“And look, John’s arm is braced behind him and is clearly very obviously much larger than this. FEEL the roundness of the bicep. FEEL the way his body leans towards his left leg and the weight settles on his lower back. You’re not observing Anderson. You’re lying to me. Stop lying to me”. He handed Anderson his pencil back brusquely.  

 “And Sally don’t snicker. I don’t know what on earth you’re doing either. You’re so focused on your drawing you’re not looking at the model at ALL. This is flat. You’re measuring is absolutely atrocious. And you know why that is? Because you’re not looking. Start over.”

 He walked away from Sally, went over to Mike but skipped him, Mike’s shoulders slumped in relief.

 “Paul. Why must I always remind you to stop erasing so much? Stop questioning every single line you plant down? Gain momentum. Observe the model and REACT. Stop thinking so much. I can hear you thinking. It’s annoying”

“Molly” Molly turned around, a little nervous, “This is a pretty good start. Keep going.” Molly only smiled and nodded, knowing Sherlock was not expecting a thank you but a continuation of effort and work.

And so Sherlock went around the room. Occasionally saying “Wrong” or “You’re drawing is boring me. Stop boring me. 

When the 30-minute mark alarm sounded to indicate it was finally time for lunch everyone sighed in relief. Sherlock huffed out a laugh, he really wasn’t THAT demanding, was he?

Some students preferred to stay during lunch to either relax with a book or chat with their fellow classmates in the quiet classroom instead of the crowded cafeteria. Sherlock, preferring to clear his mind and needing some change of scenery always opted to go for a small walk during the hour-long break. He picked up his notepad, looking back only once in minimal hesitation at leaving John behind. But why shouldn’t he? John was just a stranger. Why on earth should Sherlock feel compelled to spend his lunch time in the classroom trying to figure him out? Ridiculous. Sherlock forced himself to tear his eyes away from John’s figure, which was slipping the black robe on and reaching for his phone.

‘ _Hmm… he has a brother then’_ Sherlock surveyed the phone for a second before shaking his head and walking purposively out of the classroom.

 

….

 

Class ended faster than Sherlock had ever thought possible. The students had all clearly taken a liking to John, as when Sherlock had returned from the break most of the students had been back into the formed huddle surrounding the platform and John had been grinning happily at them 

As soon as the students began to leave Sherlock expected John to do so as well, as the models usually did, scamper off as quickly as he possibly could to change into his normal clothes and stalk out of the room without a word to Sherlock. John, however, only sank into the chair Sherlock had set out for the second half of the day and massaged his shoulder whilst he sighed in relief at being able to relax his muscles properly for the first time in hours and scrolled through his phone while everyone else vacated the room.

Sherlock did _not_ linger back, taking an unnecessarily long time to pick up his materials and fit all his notes into his shoulder bag. He gave his back to John’s figure, refusing to make notice of the way his heart was beating faster and his throat felt clogged.

 Soon enough, it was just him and John in the room, Sherlock facing away from him as he heard John hobble behind the changing screen and begin changing. A couple minutes passed and Sherlock was now definitely pushing it, placing one pencil at a time carefully onto the zipper in his bag. _What am I doing this is ridiculous. Maybe if I found something to say_  

“You definitely could stand being a little nicer to those kids don’t you think?” John suddenly said. Sherlock, surprised, turned and saw him walking out from behind the screen back into his jeans and jumper, cane in one hand and phone in the other.

Sherlock snorted and shrugged, turning back to his materials and finally swinging his bag onto his shoulder. “I’m as nice as they deserve me to be” he sniffed back.

John looked confused so Sherlock sighed “If their drawing is bad why should I lie to them and tell them otherwise. They’re here to learn are they not? How do I help them by patting them on the back if that is not what they need”

“Yeah, I guess. But I saw some real good drawing during the breaks” 

Sherlock shrugged “What do you know about teaching art?” _Oh no. I hadn’t meant to say that._ Wincing internally Sherlock waited for the scalding remark John was bound to make. This is what always happened. 

John, however, looked completely unfazed by Sherlock’s words and instead he smiled “I suppose you’re right. They're very nice kids, though”

Sherlock, not knowing how to respond just nodded, a little dumbstruck by John’s easy demeanour and lack of offence. 

“Anyway” John sighed, happily “Nice to meet you Sherlock Holmes” and he clutched his cane and walked out of the room.

Sherlock stared at the man, blinking and flustered. _How- …What?..._

_Need more data_

...

  

Once he was back home Sherlock dropped his bag carelessly onto the couch and fast walked onto his studio. He opened up his nearest sketchbook with painting ideas and the very first pencil he could get his hands on. The second his pencil hit the page Sherlock’s hand moved effortlessly through the page, barely stopping to think and never retracing his lines. 

He measured and moved and sketched and soon enough John Watson was staring at him from the page. His marked square jaw emphasised and marked by the strong shadows he remembered from the moment he stepped into the room, the sharpness and deepness of his midnight blue eyes and the shocking golden lightning of his hair falling onto his forehead. Even without colour, Sherlock was able to show the subtle changed in the skin of John’s sun-kissed face neck and arms with his slightly paler chest.

 

Sherlock stared at his drawing, a funny feeling growing inside his stomach. Nerves? Why on earth was he feeling nervous?

Scoffing Sherlock turned the page and started over.

Over the next few hours Sherlock drew and drew.. only John. His face, his hands, his lips, his back. He dedicated at least 5 pages solely to John’s neck and 3 to the scar that had marred his shoulder.

Every second of the day replayed in his head in a loop. Objectively, Sherlock knew that his interaction with John had been nothing out of the ordinary for a first meeting. There had been nothing extraordinary about it. And yet, he could not stop thinking about him.

As Sherlock drew he did not even focus on getting John’s figure or exact look right, he just… drew and John ended up perfectly situated on the page. He drew and drew and before he knew it Sherlock Holmes was at his studio desk, fast asleep, the woman in the painting he had not been able to finish that morning staring at him with a knowing smirk.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello <3  
> Here's the new chapter! Comment and kudos are of course welcome and loved<3<3

 

When Sherlock woke he had graphite imprints on his cheek in muddled indistinguishable shape from where he had leant on his drawing that might or might not have been of John’s chest. He looked at his clock, knowing that he did not have a class again until Thursday (tomorrow), but still wanting to get ahead with the day.

The clock, barely glinting in the early sunshine marked 6 am. A little late but it didn’t matter. It _was_ his day off.  

He stood up stretched and walked out of the studio. His fingers and arms felt stiff from drawing for so many hours and he could feel his back already protesting from the night of sleeping over a desk. Sherlock thus resolved to soothe his aching muscles with a hot shower and some breakfast. When was the last time he had eaten? Monday? Sunday? 

The water poured over his face and chest, washing away the dark remnants of his drawings from last night. He coursed his hands through his curls, smoothing the knots away and the remains of some paint he always ended up finding tangled up in there.

The heat of the water pressed against his neck and shoulders easing the pain and the tension in them. Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed in pleasure, passing his hands over every part of his body and lathering it in soapy water.

Flashes of John’s body yesterday passed through his mind. What would it feel like to touch his strong arms? Course a hand through his short blonde hair when wet? Observe water droplets running down his muscular form and getting caught in the crevices of his abdominal muscles…Glancing down Sherlock stared at his forming erection in shock. Well, that was unexpected. Rolling his eyes he did his best to ignore it. After all, it was just transport.

Sherlock almost never gave in to even acts of pleasuring himself. Knowing well that soon enough the problem would go away and he had never had the need to share himself or his pleasure with another body. He’d known since he was a child that he was gay, but that did not mean that he desired to interlace himself with issues such as _sentiment_. It was all hormones. Love was nothing but a chemical defect and a weakness.

Not that his body always agreed.

Soon enough the urge was too strong and hesitantly, almost embarrassedly Sherlock reached up and thumbed his left nipple, feeling as it peaked under the pad of his thumb almost instantly. He closed his eyes again, giving in but trying his best to get it over with as fast as he could without thinking about anything in particular. Especially not the new model.

Why would he even be thinking about him? That made no sense whatsoever. So what if he had a socially deemed “good” body? That did not mean that Sherlock had to be attracted to him, he thought. Sherlock’s hands, however, were now caressing his chest, inching down slowly. But no, the fact that John was attractive most certainly did not mean that Sherlock would in any way be affected by the way he talked, smiled or moved his body effortlessly. And… Sherlock licked his lips, trying his best not to go down that path… so what if John’s cock was… significantly above average in size? That made absolutely no difference whatsoever.

The memory of it was suddenly vivid in Sherlock’s mind. He had done his best not to stare or pay attention to it. After all, by teaching figure drawing Sherlock saw naked bodies every week. As many female bodies and male. It wasn’t like himself to get in any way moved or aroused by them. This had never happened before and yet…

 Sherlock felt all his blood pooling down to his groin. Almost to the point where it was painful. Giving in completely, he curled his hand around himself and gasped. Flashes of John’s smile reverberated in his mind. What would those lips look parted and gasping for breath? Sherlock gave himself a slow pull, thumbing the tender head and hissing in pleasure.

  _Wait. What am I doing?_

He opened his eyes, forcing the image of John’s neck and jaw out. This was entirely inappropriate. How would John feel if he knew Sherlock was doing this? It wasn't like he was thinking about John deliberately but still, it was not something Sherlock should be thinking about.

Forcing himself to think about nothing at all Sherlock finished himself as fast as he could. Denying absolutely that as he came that he pictured John’s pink lips pressed against the back of his neck and moaning out Sherlock’s name. 

…

 

Later that morning breakfast (a single piece of toast with some jam spread on top) Sherlock headed to his study once again.

 He leafed through his drawings from last night. Some he remembered drawing. Most… he didn’t. The majority of them were detailed renderings of parts of John’s body whilst only a few showed him in full view. Even with the colossal amount of drawings he had already made, instantly Sherlock felt the itch to make more. The thought surprised him. Even when he had interesting subjects the most he ever did was dedicate them a few drawings, a painting even, if they were lucky. But once an idea was through he never revisited a subject. The only time that had ever happened was with his mother, but sentiment was a clear factor in that; why should he want to draw… better not think about it. He felt oddly calm. The buzzing that was constantly in his head dulled to a soothed buzz after drawing last night.

 Sherlock closed his sketchbook abruptly and turned toward the other side of the room. His eyes were instantly met by the woman’s eyes. She smirked at him. “Stop it,” he told her, turning away.

 Wait.

 He turned back to look at the painting.

He rose rapidly from his chair, almost knocking it over in the process. It was like a veil had been uncovered from Sherlock’s eyes and now he could see him painting exactly as it was and exactly as it should be. Everything was so clear. He walked rapidly towards his easel and his painting materials and set to work, uncapping the paints he would need and making sure he had every paintbrush he would utilise as well as a rag to clean them on and a good amount of turpenoid.

 Sherlock grinned, not knowing what exactly had made everything in his mind click so completely but deciding it was best not to dwell on it and just bask in what he did best.

…

 

The next day, Sherlock woke up extra early to make up for sleeping in late yesterday. Well, late for his usual schedule anyway.

 The usual for rings from his clock chimed into the early dawn and Sherlock jumped out of bed. Normally his routine consisted of no more than showering and styling his hair very simply before wearing the first suit he laid his eyes on. Today, however, something tingled in the back of his mind. He tried his best to convince himself that he wasn’t lingering in the mirror to perfect every single curl on his head and styling them in a slightly puffed but soft looking style just because he would be seeing the new model again. Obviously not.

 And he, of course, just decided to wear his very best suit because it was the last class of the week and It was a nice way to end the week before his long weekend. Of course. Nothing of this had to do with John of course. It not like John would be wearing anything anyway! _Oh… bad train of thought, stop it._

Once Sherlock finished dressing himself to the nines he headed down to the school, shoulder bag in hand with his art materials and notebook to make further notes of John if necessary. He also took his sketchbook filled with drawings of John, just in case he decided to draw with his class throughout the day.

…

 

The day passed without a hitch. Mary was absent from class today so Sherlock was in a much better mood by the time the afternoon session rolled up. The other students were still quite entranced by John but Sherlock was enjoying the fact that during the breaks John would always send a smile his way.

Today Sherlock had decided to give John some props from the class to bounce off and contrast the figure. He gave him some white and gold drapery and John had alternated between stretching the sheet with his arms, back and body and just swathing it over himself, letting the silky fabric drop and emphasise the hitches and curves of his figure. The golden stitching on the drapes matched John’s hair almost exactly and Sherlock had found himself having to go to the cafeteria to rehydrate himself. Perhaps, he thought, he was getting sick.

By the afternoon John had stopped balancing on his ‘injured’ leg and was having a harder time concentrating on the poses. Sherlock could see that although John hadn’t yet asked for a chair, he would soon enough.

The pose he was in currently required John to have perfect balance as he was leaning down and putting pressure on his knees and back. He was raising the sheet high above himself, one arm curved over his head and the other reaching for the sheet draped on his broad back. Sherlock could see the single bead of sweat that had formed on John’s tanned brow that was currently rolling onto his jaw and neck and had the sudden unexplainable urge to lick it off.

Clearing his throat to dismiss the thought, Sherlock stood from his seat and started circling the room.

“You know, if you stopped thinking about your leg it would stop most of the pain. Focusing on it is not helping”. 

John’s head turned minusculely, almost imperceptible to anyone other than Sherlock. He smiled inquisitively “It _might_ be psychosomatic". 

“No no it definitely is.”

John snorted “It still hurts”

Sherlock hummed low in his throat, clearly losing interest in the conversation. John rolled his eyes good naturedly, trying to give all his focus to not moving and away from his leg. It helped a little bit. Not that he would tell Sherlock.

 After a couple of moments, Sherlock suddenly said: “I met a gentleman with psychosomatic pain in his arm a couple years ago.”

John looked back at Sherlock, his interest piquing a little “Did you?”

Sherlock nodded, going back to walk around the classroom, surveying the class’ drawings from the corner of his eye. “He was the prime suspect in the murder of his wife. Obviously innocent. But the police _are_ quite dense. Anderson this drawing is horrible”

John almost lost his balance “He murdered his wife?” he exclaimed

“No, John. You aren’t listening. He was innocent. The police had him as a prime suspect but I assured them they had the wrong guy and to let him go. Nice guy, he was-“

 “Wait wait wait. How did you know he was innocent? And how were you even in contact with the police?”

 “I have a part time job as a consulting detective-

 John opened his mouth to speak but Sherlock beat him to it, raising a hand

 “It means that whenever the police are out of their depth I help them. Which is pretty often, to be honest. And to answer your previous question I knew because they suspected him due to his PTSD and habit of having nightmares related to his time in the war. He had been going to therapy for a couple of years but it had not seemed to help and thus they pinned it on him.” Sherlock took a deep breath and went on, the speed of his speech doubling but each word still perfectly enunciated.

 “However by observing the wounds on the woman’s body, I deduced that they had been inflicted by someone extremely strong but inexperienced in body combat. The only thing the attacker had had for leverage on her had been his body mass. So, the only person that fit the profile and had a motive was her lover, the next door neighbour.”

John was staring at him wide eyed, mouth gaping open and eyebrows completely risen. His pose, however, had not changed a bit. Sherlock quickly surveyed his body, stance and expression. _He forgot about his leg. It’s no longer hurting. Excellent._ Sherlock smirked, knowing that even if John made fun of him or didn’t believe him he would at least be distracted enough not to be in pain….For the benefit of the students drawing him that needed him to be perfectly still……obviously.

“That…was” John paused. Sherlock braced himself, “Absolutely brilliant!” John exclaimed. Sherlock beamed back at him instantly, feeling warm all of a sudden. “How did you know his neighbour was her lover?!”

“Well, that was the easiest part” Sherlock scoffed, and began his series of deductions. Starting with one case only led to him telling John about another and then another and on and on. The hours passed as Sherlock regaled stories of some of his various cases to an astounded John and a speechless class. He always started by describing the crime scene as he had found it, silently challenging John to think about what had happened for himself, surprisingly John’s comments were oddly insightful about the cases. Even when they were wrong (most of the time) they managed to make Sherlock think back to the cases and wonder if he would have come to the correct conclusion faster if someone had made those comments to him then.

Every now and then Sherlock would pause and say “Change pose now” and John, without taking his eyes off of Sherlock for one second would instantly switch his body into a different but somehow just as intricate and thought out pose. _He’s good_

The class was drawing faster than ever, better than ever. Even Anderson was hanging on to Sherlock’s every word. The professor had never revealed that he had another job, let alone one as interesting as a consulting detective that went on to crime scenes and caught criminals red handed.

John never asked for a chair.

John forgot completely about his leg, the pain and at the end of class when he and Sherlock keep talking even after everyone has left and they leave class together… he forgot his cane.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theyre so in love already. I hate them. 
> 
> Ill update some time next week <3<3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the update <3<3  
> Thanks so much for reading and commenting <3<3<3

 

 “Wait wait. So let me get this straight… You knew that she was guilty only because of the paint chips on her coat?”

“Well they matched the staircase the killer had used to get to the third floor so clearly the only logical conclusion” Sherlock smiled.

Thy were walking down the road towards the bus stop, the late sun afternoon was reflecting from John’s golden hair in a series of glinting colours Sherlock was trying his best to memorize to exact detail so he could later immortalize in a painting.

John looked down onto the ground, shaking his head and chuckling softly. “Amazing”

“Do you know you do that out loud?” Sherlock asked curiously

John cleared his throat, his face colouring up a little. “Oh, right. Sorry”

Sherlock regretted his words immediately “No! It’s… it’s fine”

A comfortable sort of silence fell as they stop beside the bus. Sherlock, in truth, had no reason to walk down to the bus as his flat was the opposite way. But somehow he couldn’t bring himself to regret coming down here with John, someone who was finally interested in his deductions and cases.

The bus doors opened and John climbed the first few steps then stopped, turning to look at Sherlock

 John smiled “Well… I meant it. That was pretty amazing.” He smiled, Sherlock watched the way it made his eyes crinkle a little bit, he watched the dipping of his small dimples with curiosity. How would they feel under his fingertips?

 “Much like yourself, I should think” Sherlock answered, feeling his own face mirroring a smile back.

 John quirked his head bemusedly “Me? I’m a struggling ex-army doctor with a limp” he huffed a humourless laugh.

Sherlock just smirked, “Well at least you can tick off that last one on the list” he glanced down at John’s legs.

 “What?” John momentarily looked even more confused but then he follows Sherlock’s gaze down to his legs and then to his hand, clutching nothing but thin air. He blinked in astonishment, realizing he hadn’t even thought about the pain in his leg, or his limp, or the lack of cane in the entire time Sherlock had been talking about his cases. His gaze snapped back up as he looked back into Sherlock’s eyes and grinned, almost maniacally. “You amazing madman!” he laughed “How did you even.. how did you know?”

 Beaming back, the expression still feeling slightly foreign on his features, Sherlock just shrugged “I told you it was psychosomatic. You just needed to be distracted”

 John shook his head in disbelief and joy. They stared at each other smiling just a moment too long, the moment stretched and lingered as they both unwillingly had to look away. Sherlock felt his heart racing and the need to say something, anything, not to make John go away rose up painfully inside of him.

 John’s gaze flickered over Sherlock one last time as he realised they hadn’t said anything in about a minute and the bus driver had coughed politely to get John’s attention at least twice. John tore his gaze away from the raven haired professor and cleared his throat, opening his mouth to say something but the door began to close in front of him and instead he only exclaimed “See you next week then?” and Sherlock, still seeming pretty stunned just nodded.

The bus took off and Sherlock frowned at the floor. What had just happened? He rose a hand to his throat trying to make it stop feeling so lodged up and to calm his still racing heart. He felt each thump under his fingertips, reverberating against his ribs and screaming out to him. _It’s the rush of adrenaline after being proven right. It has to be. But I’ve never reacted to any kind of case like this. Not the ones without danger._  

Danger. Maybe that was what Sherlock’s heart was trying so desperately to communicate to him. Sherlock tried to figure out why. It was definitely the thrill of a correct deduction. But it was so much more than that… John’s smile and numerous praises had burst small bubbles of elation inside Sherlock. He wanted to see that smile again. He never wanted to see John not smiling. Or limping again. Sherlock stood there watching the bus retreat in the far distance swallowing hard, and not knowing what to do with all these emotions or how to make sense of them. But there _was_ something he knew he could do for now.

He took out his mobile and turning around into the direction of his flat he dialed Angelo’s number.

 ….

 As soon as the bus took off and John sat on one of the empty seats close to the front. He hesitated over sitting on one of the reserved seats for the incapacitated next to the bus door but remembering his lack of limp smiled and took the ones behind.

John watched the scenery passing through the window thinking about Sherlock. He’d hoped to thank him for the limp. _I guess I’ll have to wait until next week to see him again._

Suddenly his good mood shattered as he thought back to what he’d said last and a realization hit him, a sinking feeling in his gut. Oh no…I said _See you next week? NEXT WEEK? He only booked me for this week. These two classes. Which are over now. Why on earth would you just assume that he would book you? Or that he SHOULD book you?_ How presumptuous of him to just invite himself to Sherlock’s class as the model. Remembering the shocked look Sherlock had given him as John had said those words just brought a whole new wave of shame through his body.

John covered his face with his hands, elbows resting on his legs and suppressed a groan. He hadn’t even said goodbye to balance his rude behaviour out. Oh, God.

Soon enough the bus stopped and John walked out into the streets and onto his apartment building. An army pension and his salary for modelling were not conducive to a grand amount of money so at least for now he could not afford a proper apartment that was more than basically a bedroom with a tiny kitchen and an equally minuscule bathroom.

John sighed, dropping off his bag and sitting down heavily on his narrow bed, the springs creaking loudly under his weight, resolving to simply forget about all of this and hope Sherlock did too and he didn’t book him again for a little while so they could both forget about this.

As soon as he thought about not seeing Sherlock, however, he felt a pain of sorrow. True, the professor had been a little overbearing and maybe even rude but he was fascinating, truly talented and intelligent. And that was even without mentioning his undeniable beauty. Sure, he was like no one John had ever seen before, all angles and cheekbones and curls but John had to admit to himself that if he had met Sherlock literally anywhere else other than that classroom the first thing he would’ve done would’ve been to approach him and maybe smooth out a terrible but charming pickup line.

 _Wait…_ Oh god no.

This was even worse! It was not possible that he could possibly be developing a little crush on the artist! On the person he was posing naked for! And not just him, an entire classroom filled with students! Firstly, there was no way that Sherlock would be even remotely interested and secondly, it was completely inappropriate to try to seduce the person you work with. And even worse inviting yourself over to their class to do it. No wonder Sherlock had been so shocked. The man could see everything in a person as clear as day and John’s feelings were probably just as transparent.

But then, just when John was tempted to either call his boss over at the agency and quit or throw it completely out of the window so he could not be contacted, there was a knock at the door.

John looked up at the door across the small room. Who on earth could that be? He wasn’t expecting anyone. He’d paid his rent on time… right?...yes. Yes he had! John stood up and walked over just as the knocks resounded again, the sudden image of Sherlock behind the door flashed momentarily through his mind but he dismissed the thought forcibly. Sherlock should never come here and see the conditions in which John was currently living. Why on earth would he come over for any reason anyway?

John opened the door.

A man that was most certainly not Sherlock was standing there smiling, he was only slightly taller than himself and rather rounded. He had a thick black beard and his long thick hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. All in all he looked joyful and… jolly for a lack of a better word.

“Hello?” John asked hesitantly, his lips pulling into an automatic polite if a little hesitant smile. “Can I help you?”

“Yes! You’re John no?” Angelo’s voice boomed out happily as he continued to grin at John. “I am Angelo. Mr. Sherlock Holmes texted me, said you forgot this in his classroom!” he said raising one of his arms where clutched in his hand was John’s cane.

“Oh!” John exclaimed. His eyes and smile widened. “Thank you so much!” he took the cane from Angelo’s extended hand.

“I work in the school cafeteria so it was really no trouble getting it from his room. I owe that man my life” Angelo beamed. “You take care of that more carefully!” he laughed, already turning away and raising a hand in farewell.

“Goodbye! Thanks again” John called out after him, before closing the door with a wide grin on his face. How did Sherlock even know where he lived? John laughed. Of COURSE Sherlock Holmes knew where he lives. He probably knew John’s cellphone number and laptop password already too. John chuckled again, clutching his cane but marveling at the fact that he was standing on his own two feet, cane raised up on one of his hands, no longer feeling like a floatation device in John’s ocean but a mere object in his hand. There was almost no pain in his leg. Only the slight sting of soreness and disuse but it no longer cramped and complained where John balanced his weight onto it.

John smiled, being grateful that even if Sherlock did not contact him again at least he cared a little about him.

…

There was pink and golden paint in Sherlock’s cheeks where he’d rubbed his own face thoughtfully.

The painting of the woman, now completely finished, hung beside him on the wall next to his collection of paintings for his upcoming solo gallery. It wasn’t an enormous event but it _was_ Sherlock’s first gallery all to himself so he intended it to be absolutely perfect.

His current painting came to no surprise to the watching portraits of the wall. All their eyes on Sherlock’s poised figure now carefully smoothing brushstrokes of golden hues peeking out of the shadows.

Sherlock paused, putting the golden stained brush back into his solution of turpenoid and picking up a clean one. He observed his painting for a moment and closed his eyes, trying to recall the exact picture he was trying to replicate in as perfect detail as he could.

John standing on the front steps of the buses, smiling down at Sherlock as sun rays bounced off his golden hair and lightened the deep blue of his eyes by two shades. He recalled his soft cotton shirt stretching across his expanse chest and one of his legs, poised on the step above as if ready but unwilling to turn away and leave into the depths of the bus.

Sherlock opened his eyes. The painting in front of him resembled the memory almost exactly. He leaned forward, carefully dabbing his clean paintbrush into a light pink dollop of colour on his palette and peered closely at John’s beaming face. He brushed the tip of the paintbrush delicately over John’s lower lip, the tan colour of his skin’s hue blending easily but distinguished by the shadow below the protruding lip. Sherlock rose his other hand to his face and touched his own mouth, unconsciously mirroring John’s easy smile.

The daylight from outside the window was almost entirely gone, moonlight starting to shine its unearthly glow into Sherlock’s enchanted face.

Five hours had gone by and for once his mind was not buzzing with possibilities and ideas and corrections for his painting. It wasn’t exhausted from trying to perfect everything. His thoughts just flowed calmly like a winding river. He felt calm and almost...almost whole at last.

Sherlock kept staring at John’s lips on the painting, letting himself wonder what it would feel like if those lips were to press against his. Would they feel as soft as they looked? Would they be gently or demanding? Pulling or pressing?

He pictured those deep midnight eyes to look at him through heavy lidded eyelids. Sherlock cleared his throat, instantly feeling a blush rising up his throat into his cheeks and feeling uncomfortably tight in his trousers. He didn’t know he could possibly have these impulses, more than once in a week… let alone wanting to… give in to them.

A sudden knock at his studio’s door interrupted his wandering mind and he jumped, almost knocking over his empty cup of tea on the table beside him as he rose up quickly from his seat.

“Hoo hoo!” Mrs. Hudson, his landlady, peeked her head inside the room. “I came by to dust and noticed your fridge contents have still not gone down, so I brought you some tea and sandwiches” she came into the room, opening the door with her hip. Sherlock came over to her side and took the tray from her hands. She was wearing a deep burgundy dress and kitten heels, her silvering hair pulled up into a loose bun, as familiar as ever.

 “Thank you Hudders. You shouldn’t have” he lightly kissed her cheek and carried over the tray over to his desk, making space by moving his sketchbook currently open to one of his various drawings of John.

Mrs. Hudson smiled “Its no trouble dear. But don’t get used to it. I’m still not your housekeeper. This is a one-time thing”.

Sherlock chuckled, not believing her for a second and taking a bite of one of the sandwiches.

“Your mother called dear. Said you haven’t called her in ages!” she tutted at him

Sherlock sighed “I called her 4 days ago. She’s just being melodramatic”

“Well you do call her almost every day dear, no wonder she’s worried” she patted his cheek as Sherlock huffed in embarrassment.

“Oh my goodness Sherlock! You made so much progress! This new painting is amazing!” she suddenly gushed, walking rapidly over to the painting of John getting into the bus. “This one is so different than the others… all your paintings feel alive but this one. This one is something else” She came closer, examining it from all angles and distances. “It’s wonderful Sherlock. What a handsome man, isn’t he?”, she smiled.

“Oh. Uh. Thank you. And yes I suppose he could be deemed not physically unappealing” Sherlock answered as neutrally as he could, not meeting her eye.

 “You know him?” She asked, peering at Sherlock more closely now.

“He- uh. He’s the new model for my figure drawing class. I just happened to accompany him to his bus stop.” He answered, still looking into the depths of his steaming cup of tea instead of her.

“Well… he’s certainly a looker”

Sherlock nodded, humming noncommittally.

“What’s his name?”

“John”

Mrs. Hudson hummed in answer, Sherlock finally looked up to see her. Her eyes were narrowed as she stared at him, clearly trying to figure something out. “Is this him too?” she peered over to the sketchbook opened to a page featuring John’s upper body, starting form the torso and up. The drawing was perfectly detailed, from the expansive scar on his shoulder to the eyelashes hooding his eyes. Mrs. Hudson picked up the sketchbook, and leafed through it. The John’s covering the pages were no wonder staring at her with telling smirks.

 “No! Don’t look at-“

“Ah ha!” Mrs. Hudson cheered “I knew it!” she grinned up at Sherlock’s scowling expression. “So do you like him? Are you seeing him again?” she enthused, clapping her hands together in delight.

“No! Maybe. I don’t know.” He muttered.

“Well I think you should. Lord knows I’ve never seen you bring anyone over, aside from that brother and the detective inspector once in a while. And oh my goodness you need someone to take care of you! Feed you up! Aside from myself of course, but I’m not going to be here forever. At my time of life..”

“Mrs Hudson” Sherlock interrupted her “Don’t you have some other thing to be attending to? Your herbal soothers maybe?” he deadpanned

She laughed “Oh Sherlock. Fine, I’ll leave you to it then. Let me know if you get hungry later, I’ll make you some casserole.” She smiled at him and closed the door behind her as she left.

Sherlock huffed half annoyed and half amusedly. He looked back at John’s painting, thinking.

 _AM I gonna see him again?_ Sherlock wondered to himself, frowning. John had no reason to contact him, even after the cane incident. He would probably just forget about everything by next week.

 Next week.

  _“See you next week then?” That’s what he said when he left. That’s what he said! Does that mean he wants me to book him again? Or did he assume I would because I was being so obvious about my… my… my infatuation. Sod it. Yes: Infatuation._

Sherlock was infatuated. So what? He frowned, turning towards the door and almost expecting Mycroft to barge in with a snide comment. But no one came. The room was just as quiet. Sherlock sighed. What to do now? 

If John expected him to book him because he knew Sherlock wanted to and he explicitly said so that would mean… he wasn’t bothered by it. On the other hand how could he not be bothered? So clearly he didn’t know about Sherlock’s little crush. Maybe he just _wants_ to see Sherlock again. Sherlock scoffed. As if.

 Whatever the reason Sherlock couldn’t just pass up on the opportunity to see John again next week. For two whole classes. Hours and hours of John time. Wonderful. 

Mind made up Sherlock stalked to his laptop sitting on his desk and opened up the school’s website and onto the teachers section under his name. He scrolled through the list of next week’s available models and found ‘John H. Watson’. He hesitated briefly over the button that read _‘book for next week’_ , hovering uncertainly.

Biting his lip and taking a shuddering breath, he clicked it as fast as he could. The world didn’t explode, as expected. The only difference in the room were Sherlock’s brightly coloured cheeks and the button that now read ‘Booked’.

 Sherlock had never in his whole teaching career booked a teacher twice in a row. Ever. He just hoped nobody asked why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These boooys.... cant they just kiss alreadyyyy <3<3<3
> 
>  
> 
> ill update some time next week <3<3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the update took so long-- the chapter is twice as long and i didnt feel like splitting it into two so- <3<3  
> Thank so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos <3<3 it means a lot<3<3<3

On Thursday morning Sherlock was taking attendance as fast as he could. Since this week the novelty of having a never before seen model had worn off there were quite a few absences but Sherlock paid no attention, for once his focus was not solely on the classroom but on its door. He awaited the moment that blonde man would walk through and completely capture his full attention. Even without being here he was already achieving it quite well.

On Tuesday, the first class of this week, Sherlock had called out to them at the beginning of the day. “Class” Sherlock had said, standing up to guarantee they would all turn to see him. “John is coming back for this week’s lessons so please abstain from being annoying to him.” He’d said a little defensively, hoping no one would ask any question and prompt Sherlock into a denying frenzy. 

No had one questioned him, everyone, however, looked utterly and completely… unsurprised? Sherlock’s eyes had narrowed. He’d had expected at least some reaction from the class overall. Looking around the only thing out of the ordinary had been Mike and Molly who had been looking at each other with excited grins and raised eyebrows. Molly had looked at Sherlock quickly, and back to Mike. Sherlock got the impression that they were sharing the same train of thought, whatever it was, Sherlock had no idea. Molly looked oddly, proud. _Huh... I’ll never understand adolescents,_ Sherlock thought to himself.

 Today was the second class of the week, the last one he would get to see John for god knows how long.

Just in time, the classroom door opened and John walked in. No cane. Not even in hand for an emergency. John was already smiling, which pleased Sherlock immensely, and the moment he closed the door behind himself he turned to catch Sherlock’s eye. “Hello!” he beamed.

 “Hello John” Sherlock smiled back, eyes flicking down to John’s cane-less stance and up again. John smiled even wider, in silent acknowledgement. Sherlock’s heart definitely did not skip a beat and on a whim, Sherlock winked. John blinked, surprised before returning a grin and turning away to look at the students and nodding hello at them as well. He walked across the classroom and behind the changing screen, Sherlock could’ve sworn his cheeks were slightly tinted pink but it could’ve just been some trick of the classrooms light.  

Sherlock watched him. In just one week the man looked completely different. A good kind. If the professor had thought that John looked amazing last week he clearly had had no perspective on how he could look. John was absolutely glowing. His already tanned skin had a joy in feeling the power in both his legs once more.

Sherlock smiled minutely to himself, aware Molly and Mike were both observing him for some unknown reason. Perhaps they hadn’t done their homework, though coming from Molly at least that seemed highly unlikely. Deciding to ignore whatever was going on with his students Sherlock reached into his bag and drew out a big almost brand new sketchbook he reserved for lessons when he decided to join his students. He usually reserved such lessons for when he trusted his students enough not to have to check on them every 5 minutes but alas, he could not resist. Not with not knowing if he would ever get John as a model again at any time soon and taking advantage of having him to draw from instead of having to rely solely on memory. No matter how good his memory was.

 _Besides_ Sherlock thought to himself _Perhaps he had been too hard on these kids. John was right. They were rather good._

As soon as John was poised on the stage and the lights were set to Sherlock’s exact liking the class began to draw. John dropped the robe and got into a pose, closing his eyes against the brightness of the light. Sherlock waited at least 5 minutes into the first pose before he stopped circling the room in silence and sat down on his desk. He picked up his favourite graphite 5b pencil and began to draw. The moment the added sound of Sherlock’s pencil scratching the surface of the paper John opened his eyes and looked over at Sherlock. There was no change in his stance, his pose was naturally facing the professor and so their eyes met from across the room, the glaring lights contrasting against the dark classroom and giving John an unearthly glow that sparked imaginings of candlelight in Sherlock’s imagination.

 Sherlock’s heart skipped another beat. _This can’t possibly be normal. Is this what people feel when they’re infatuated? How are they not suffering from heart aneurysms every other hour?_ Sherlock bit his lip and broke the eye contact for a moment, looking down at his paper instead to ‘fix a line’.

 John tried his best to hide his smirk. _Feeling nervous Mr Holmes?_ he thought to himself, knowing that there was no way Sherlock could possibly be attracted to him but still liking the pretty pink blush that had covered Sherlock’s cheeks after being caught staring. Wiping the smugness off of his face the moment Sherlock began lifting his head again, John took a deep breath. Christ Sherlock was _still_ biting his lip. John licked his own lips, trying not to move from his pose as he was getting more absorbed into watching Sherlock watching him instead. His breath got slightly more elevated, Sherlock watched the process of his ribs expanding and contracting, toning his waist and chest with every breath for long seconds. The pencil in his hand remained motionless as every student in the class disappeared and his eyes rose to John’s gaze once more.

Lightning. That was the only way Sherlock could have described the second their eyes met again. So intense and so electric they both had to look away. Sherlock to scratching his pencil more ferociously on the page and John onto the ground, both unaware of each other’s reactions and berating themselves alone.

 The poses changed and the majority of breaks were forgotten. The energy in the classroom was tense as the students focused on John’s poses and the heavy silence in the room. It felt like an orchestra in crescendo up until the lunch bell rang, everyone blinking around and wondering where the morning had gone. Sherlock looked down at his drawing, seeming almost shocked that he had been drawing at all and not remembering a single second of it. At least not a second where he had taken his eyes off of the model.

The students scampered off, which was odd as they usually stayed in for lunch. But they clearly felt dazed and exhausted, the morning never being quite as productive as it had been today. Sherlock quickly asked them to set their homework sketchbooks on the table on their way out for him to check for next week and told them to take 15 minutes extra in their break. The students sighed but did as told, well… most of them. Anderson predictably did not have his homework and came up with a flimsy excuse which Sherlock waved away, not even bothering to look up from his own sketchbook.

 As soon as the room was empty a heavy silence fell once more. John discretely put his robe back on and tied it carefully with the string, jumping off the platform with ease. Sherlock’s breath hitched as he heard John’s steps nearing his desk, not daring to look up. 

“Hey,” John spoke softly, seeming a little cautious for interrupting Sherlock’s drawing. Sherlock felt a small glimmer of warmth. “Hello John, your leg is feeling alright I assume?” he winced internally, cringing at the fact that he had so quickly jumped to a safe conversation instead of being like any normal human being and asking actual questions and being interesting himself. He kept his eyes on the page, pretending to keep highlighting shadows and half hoping John would say something or ask something just so Sherlock wouldn’t have to embarrass himself again.

John grinned, clearly not noticing Sherlock’s dilemma and lighting up at Sherlock’s question “It’s feeling great. Thanks so much for getting Angelo to bring my cane back, I forgot to thank you a couple of days ago last class”

“It’s no trouble” Sherlock finally looked up and met John’s eye.

 “So...” John started “You joined the class today” he looked at Sherlock from beneath his lashes.

“Oh. Um. Yes. I decided the class was ready to handle a morning without me breathing on their necks. I’ll check their progress after lunch.”

 John nodded, humming an agreement. “Could I…” he paused, seeming nervous and uncertain “Could I see?” he motioned with his head towards Sherlock’s drawing. Sherlock blinked, surprised that John would show interest in Sherlock’s art at all. No other model had ever asked Sherlock if they could see his drawings, probably presuming that he would write all his deductions about their deepest secrets or afraid that if they saw himself in their drawing they would somehow be able to see them just as clearly too.

Sherlock mutely nodded. 

Rounding the table to come stand next to the professor John leant over the desk to be able to see his drawing better. Sherlock tensed as he could faintly feel John’s body heat emanating from beneath the single layer of fabric draped over his naked body onto Sherlock’s side. He expelled a nervous breath as John peered even closer to the drawing. Biting his lip and suddenly doubting his artistic ability entirely beneath the deep blue eyes of John Watson.

“Sherlock,” John breathed “This… this is incredible!” he exclaimed, turning to look at the raven haired professor with an awestruck look, his eyes glinting with wonder.

 Sherlock could not help the shy smile that pulled at his lips “You really think so?”. He wished he didn’t sound so insecure but he rarely had people critique his work. Ever. He knew he was good. The scholarship, the approving looks of his professors, the jealous stares of his peers and Mrs Hudson’s praises were enough evidence to come to that conclusion, but that was nothing like the way John was looking at him now. Like Sherlock had magically conjured some amazing spectacle all by himself.

John looked back at the drawing. He saw himself covering the entire off-white page, his figure lightly outlined with graphite. The shadows were stark, completely making his knees and shoulders pop. John stared into his own eyes on the page, feeling the remnants of the intensity with which he and Sherlock had stared at each other across the room. It was fascinating, seeing oneself the way someone else saw you. Especially through the eyes of the genius that was the man sitting beside him. Even now he could feel the tingle of Sherlock’s gaze on his side, clearly evaluating every reaction John gave to the drawing. How could someone so talented be so doubtful of their own gift?

John finally turned to look back at Sherlock, feeling utterly overwhelmed. “Thank you,” he said. He wasn’t sure why he said it. But he could not help it. John felt as if he had been staring at something even more like himself than when he stared into a mirror. As if Sherlock had somehow captured a piece of his soul and being and had sheathed it into the darkness of the shadows and the starkness of the lights in the drawing.

Sherlock smiled. Every ounce of the self-consciousness he had been feeling vanishing with John Watson’s soft and fond gaze. “You’re welcome” he murmured back.

As silence fell between them again Sherlock searched fro something else to say. Anything to stop John walking back onto the other side of the room, even just the other side of the desk and leaving cold air in the space next to his body.

 In the end, he needn’t have worried, the blonde just turned around and leant on the side of the table. “So...” he started “Anything on with your cases?” he sounded just as curious as he had last week, even without the need to keep himself distracted from the pain in his leg.

 Feeling a thrill of excitement Sherlock reached back into his bag. “A fascinating one, actually” he pulled out a yellow folder, full of files and pictures. “5 serial murders in the span of a week. Every single one linked. All made to look like cases of domestic abuse, all apparently unique. Almost as if they were just coincidentally happening around the same time. Absolutely brilliant!”

“How did you get that?” John asked, peering into the folder as Sherlock opened it beside him to show John. The main picture displayed a woman in her dressing gown, laying on a wooden floor with bruises around her neck. The pictures beneath that one were all similar. Men and women killed in different ways, all seemingly attacked when least expecting it, none of them holding weapons in return. John could see tiny notes scribbled onto the side of the picture, where Sherlock had made all his observations. He could make out the words “180 cm” and “unfaithful” but not much else.

 “I nicked it from the police's current DI” Sherlock shrugged. Flipping through the pages.

 John laughed “Of course you did. Well then, how did the killer do it?”

 “That’s the fascinating part” Sherlock grinned up at him. “I have 3 theories…”

…

 

The students eventually came back, much to Sherlock’s disappointment. John went back to the platform at the centre of the room, but Sherlock could see the reluctance to leave Sherlock’s side, he couldn’t help the tiny smile he gave at the thought.

 John had to change poses so Sherlock wasn’t able to draw his face directed solely at him again. But he was happy to draw every bit of John he could see for the rest of the class, already planning many more paintings he could do with them. If he wasn’t careful his next gallery would be all John paintings. Well, that didn’t sound so back when he thought about it. 

He did end up critiquing some of the students’ work, but he found himself being kinder to them. Explaining their errors with more patience than usual. Even Anderson received a small nod for his effort. Clearly, he could concentrate much better now that Sally was absent from the class. If nurtured, he might even be an alright artist. Maybe.

At the end of the class just as the students were leaving and John was at the back of the room changing back into his clothes, today a striped blue and white jumper and navy blue jeans, Sherlock’s phone pinged with a text. _Perfect timing_ Sherlock reached into his back pocket and unlocked the phone white a swipe of his thumb.

_We found the last victim's husband –GL_

Grinning Sherlock typed back.

_Excellent! Where was he? Did he confess? -SH_

_Exactly where you said he would be. No. He apparently didn’t even know his wife was dead. We’re interrogating him to get the truth as we speak. –GL_

_Wrong. He’s innocent. I’ll be down there in 15 –SH_

John walked out of the changing screen. “Everything alright?” he asked, seeing how fast Sherlock was packing up all his things into his bag, rushed but still managing to be careful of his most precious pencils and drawing charcoal.

“Five serial murders and now an innocent husband. It’s Christmas!” Sherlock enthused, zipping up the bag and throwing it over his shoulder.

He met John’s eyes. John looked oddly… hesitant? He could definitely see some excitement in there, some spark ignited from the expectation of danger. Maybe some sadness too? Nostalgia over something missed, something lost. His hand was clenching slightly as if awaiting some sort of adrenaline rush eagerly. OH!

“John?” Sherlock said, walked up close to him, feeling his heart lodging up his throat.

 “Oh uh yeah sorry.” John visibly shook himself out of the small trance that had taken over him momentarily “That sounds really interesting! You have to let me know how it goes next class yeah?” John smiled, it didn’t quite reach his eyes, though.

Sherlock licked his lips, turning his gaze to the ground “Well…” he started, nervously “Maybe you… come with me?” he glanced back up at John’s surprised expression.

 “What? Really?” he grinned, his dimples sinking and his eyebrows rising with excitement. Sherlock instantly decided he never wanted that expression to leave the blonde’s face ever again. 

“Of course!” Sherlock beamed, confidence returning with John’s enthusiasm. “I could use a second opinion… Do you want to come?”. 

“Oh God yes!”

From the back of the room Molly and Mike, who had been listening to the entire conversation looked at each other and conspiratorially, grinned.

…

 

John’s high laugh echoed through the staircase as they approached Sherlock’s flat, Sherlock’s rumbling chuckle right behind it.

In the darkness, Sherlock couldn’t see much past John’s golden hair and the silhouette of his figure walking in front of him. It had been his suggestion to run back to his own flat, knowing that John lived far away and needing to get away from the cold after chasing down the killer down several streets.

“And then when you- haha- ha. I can’t believe you made us break into an apartment building, and run up 15 floors just so you could use the rooftops as running ground. And then we saw the elevator on the top floor after all those goddamn stairs” Sherlock burst into new peals of delighted laughter alongside him, John shaking his head and gasping for breath.

“Not my fault. Nobody ever should put an elevator behind the staircase. Beats the point” he giggled. They were now in front of the door, Sherlock, still chuckling under his breath reached inside his bag for the key. He opened the door, motioning John as if they had done this a million times before. But in the back of Sherlock’s mind, the marvel of seeing John Watson walking through the front door to his flat made his heart feel like it was dancing, a warm feeling spreading through his chest.

John looked around as Sherlock reached behind himself and turned the light to the main room of the flat on. His heart beating a little faster with nerves. He was rather messy, now that he looked around his apartment.

“This is great! I love what you’ve done with the place” He turned around to face Sherlock, still looking around himself. “Love the.. uh, is that a skull?” he shook his head, grinning as if he should’ve known to expect a skull sitting on the male right under a dissected bat.

“Sure is. Billy. Friend of mine… when I say, friend.” Sherlock smirked.

“Oh! Is this your studio?” John motioned towards the door to the far right, walking towards the entrance.

Panic rose up hot and sharp in Sherlock’s chest. He could picture the way he had left his studio perfectly this morning. Three finished paintings of John Watson decorated the walls. And a fourth one sat almost finished on his easel. _No no no he absolutely CANNOT go in there_ his brain screamed at him. He momentarily panicked internally, wondering whether tackling was still a socially unacceptable move. He quickly ran down a list of possible normal way to distract John before he just squawked “Youcan’tgointhere!” _Great. Smooth, Holmes._

John stopped short “Oh right. Privacy of the artist?” he huffed an uncertain laugh

Sherlock tried to smile back, feeling like he probably failed miserably “Uh yeah... Would you um… Would you like some tea, John? Take a seat, make yourself at home” without waiting for an answer he turned towards his left and onto the kitchen, feeling his face flaming hot red with nerves.

John looked at Sherlock’s retreating figure curiously, before glancing back at his studio’s door. What could he have in there that he couldn’t let John see? It’s not like John hadn’t seen his art before, he’d seen the drawing he had made earlier that very day. Maybe he had drawings or paintings of other nude models and would rather respect their privacy? The thought of someone, male or female, standing in Sherlock’s studio posing naked for solely him made John twinge with envy momentarily. What would it feel like? Modelling for only him? In a room where there weren’t students all around observing him as well. Would Sherlock let down his guard and look at John for hours, his eyes hooding with every passing second. That lovely blush that would sometimes spread through his cheeks reaching his impossibly long neck and pale chest. Would the room grow too hot and he would have to take off his usual blue scarf? Maybe unbutton his shirt just a little-

“Here… It’s black tea. I hope that’s alright. No sugar right?” Sherlock appeared into the living room again, arm reaching out to hand John a steaming cup of tea.

“Oh!” John shook himself out of his daydream forcibly. _I can’t think of him like that… he’d never think of me like that._ “It’s perfect” he smiled up at Sherlock “Thank you”. He didn’t even bother to ask how Sherlock knew he didn’t take sugar. Of course, he knew.

A comfortable silence fell as they both sat on the couches across from each other in front of Sherlock’s fireplace. John sunk into the cushions, marveling at how natural it felt to just be sitting here with Sherlock. They’d only known each other for a couple of weeks and yet… everything just fit. Looking around himself again he suddenly noticed the violin perched up against the window. “You play the violin?” he asked, eyebrows rising. _When would this man stop surprising him?_

“Oh, that. Yes. My mother made me take lessons when I was a child. My brother took up the cello and I the violin. I never stopped playing. Much to my surprise, my mother was right. It did suit me.”

John smiled, “You get along with your mother well then?”

Sherlock nodded softly, sipping his tea “I’d say so, yes. She always understood much better than anyone else.”

“Not your father then?” John prompted carefully, taking a long sip himself. The tea, as expected, was perfect.

Sherlock put his cup down on the small table beside him “No. My father left us when I was a child. He had been having an affair for all my life and most of my elder brother’s. When his mistress became pregnant he left us for the new family”

“Oh, Sherlock... I’m so sorry” John’s brow furrowed in sadness. He imagined Sherlock as a kid, all bouncing dark curls and big icy eyes, abandoned by his father. He felt the urge to take Sherlock into his arms, hug him and never let go.

“It’s fine. He was a rubbish father. My mother is much better off without him.” Sherlock sounded neutral, as if he’d rehearsed those words several times in his own mind. He met John’s eyes again and smiled softly, almost sadly “My mother is a kind woman. Sometimes too kind for her own good.”

John nodded, understanding completely. “She sounds like a wonderful woman”. He glanced back at the violin “So you’ve played since you were a child then. I played the clarinet in high school. Couldn’t stick to it for more than 2 years though”  

 “Well you probably weren’t very good then” Sherlock smirked

“Hey!” John laughed. “I was _amazing_ at it. Had to quit. Too many interested parties lining up for me”

 Sherlock laughed “I’m sure that was exactly it John”. He paused, biting his lip. “I could… if you want. I could play a piece for you?”

John’s eyes widened, sitting up straighter and placing down his teacup carefully “That sounds brilliant!”

Now-familiar warmth spread across Sherlock’s chest, the butterflies in his stomach deciding to make a swooping motion. He stood up and walked over to the windowsill, picking up his violin. He closed his eyes and brought the violin close to his ear, plucking the strings softly, one by one to make sure that it was perfectly in tune. He then rose the bow and placed the violin under his chin. He looked at John one last time before he held the violin securely with his left hand.

One. Two. Three.

He began playing. Slow soft notes resounded through the small living room, reverberating in Sherlock’s chest and heartbeat. He didn’t play a song he knew by heart. He played notes as he felt them, sweet and tingling across the space between himself and John Watson. He thought about John. About the pink colour of his lips, the blue of his eyes, the tanned gold of his skin. He thought about his hands, the rough callouses on his fingers and how they might feel against the skin of his neck. He thought about how they had run across the streets side by side and it had felt completely natural. As if they had been doing it their entire lives. He thought about how John had looked at him when Sherlock had deduced the killer to an inch of his life, the widened mouth in an awestruck smile. But above all, he thought about John’s laugh. Above _all_ John’s sweet contagious laugh.

The last note, high and hopeful rang out in his ears. And although he could not recall any single note of the long and soft melody he had just played the look on John’s face made him feel as if he’s brought down the moon itself only for him.

A new image of John for a new painting.

…

The evening had progressed without a hitch. Sherlock had ignored Lestrade’s texts about coming down to the Yard to fill in witness reports and he and John had simply talked. Sherlock could see John’s eyes flicker every now and then towards his studio but he resolved not to ruin this sooner than he had to. John deserved to see his paintings. They _were_ his… but not now. Not when Sherlock was so unsure of what was going on between them.

It was nearing dawn so Sherlock expected it when John yawned and announced that he had to leave. That didn’t mean he didn’t get up from the couch without significant restraint.

He followed John downstairs to get a cab, fingers twitching with the effort of holding himself back from grabbing him and kissing him.

“This was great! I can’t believe you go on cases like this all the time!” John said as soon as they stepped outside onto the street. He raised his hand to a cab some way down the road.

“Well some are duller than others but yes. In general, they keep me entertained”

John laughed “Well…” he hesitated “I had a lot of fun” he smiled up at Sherlock, who beamed back. They were rather close to each other now, only about a foot apart. Neither was exactly sure of how that had happened.

“You should… accompany me again. I really… appreciated your insight”

John coursed a hand through his hair, huffing a laugh “Oh.. yeah, I’d like that”

Sherlock cleared his throat, looking down at his feet momentarily as the cab finally rolled down and stopped beside them. “So umm. See you next week then?” he asked hopefully.

“Oh,” John’s smile faded “I’m… booked for another class next week I’m afraid”

“Right. I didn’t. Umm. Yeah. That’s perfectly understandable. I don’t know what I was- uh.” Sherlock spluttered out, mentally berating himself and blushing to the very top of his ears embarrassedly. _Stupid stupid of course John is booked next week why would I even ask? 2 weeks in a row can be excusable but 3? So obvious. So. Obvious!_ He scrambled for something else to say, anything to fix this, but came up empty handed. He looked down at his feet, almost expecting John to dismiss him.

John’s heart clenched painfully in his chest, the sight of this man before him struggling, looking down at his shuffling feet and…nervous? The blush was back in his cheeks. John’s eyes peered down as the redness spreading onto his neck and chest just like he’d daydreamed about. He let out a shaky breath into the cold night air.

Somehow he unknowingly closed the foot of distance apart and he and Sherlock were much much closer than he’d anticipated. Sherlock looked up from the ground and met his eyes, also seeming shocked at how close together they had somehow ended up “I’ll see you… soon then” he murmured, not knowing what else to say but wanting to believe his words were true.

John hummed in answer, feeling Sherlock’s breath delicately graze his face. “Yes I…uh.. yeah”  he whispered. Sherlock’s eyes were in a trance, glazed over as he looked down into John’s face. John licked his lips, feeling his heart racing up onto his throat and the warmth emanating from Sherlock into his own body closing in. Sherlock followed John’s tongue’s progress with his eyes, his pupils visibly dilating. John gasped.

Before either of them was sure what was happening they were kissing. Well, Sherlock was mostly standing perfectly still, still too shocked to react as John's lips slid between his over and over again, pressing and pulling. He felt his eyes slip closed as John tangled his fingers onto his curls, drawing a low almost imperceptible moan from Sherlock’s throat. He felt John’s tongue tracing the seam of his lips and was just about to open them and grant him access when-

Suddenly the wet heat of another mouth was gone and John had pulled away. Sherlock dragged his eyes open and was met with the sight of John looking at him, eyes wide and worried. Anxious. “I umm.. I ought to go. See.. see you soon” he smiled hesitantly, it not quite reaching his eyes and before Sherlock could do anything other than blink, trying to process everything that had just happened, the cab’s door was closed and was driving away into the night.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY KISSED!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took long to write so I apologize for the delay <3<3<3 I hope this chapter satisfies those worried about the ending of the last one haha those silly boys <3<3

_What on Earth did I just DO?_

The thought had crossed John’s mind in a loop for at least the last 20 minutes as the cab carried him further and further away from Sherlock Holmes.

 He buried his face in his hands and breathed slowly, just like his therapist had told him to countless times. She, of course, had been talking about therapeutic ways to calm himself down after waking up from one of his many PTSD nightmares, but John assumed that his racing heart and ringing ears were signs of an oncoming panic attack so he kept going.

 

He had kissed Sherlock.

He. Had. Kissed. Sherlock.

 

Not that he hadn’t wanted to, of course. In that moment John had not been able to think about anything other than pushing Sherlock against a wall and claiming his mouth for hours and hours on end. But Sherlock… had not kissed back. Truthfully John had only started kissing him but he had felt the suddenness of the tension in Sherlock’s body. Almost as if he had never been kissed before. And John had just thrown himself at him without any kind of permission on Sherlock’s part. John. His model. How inappropriate! He groaned, trying his best to remember the breathing pattern to slow down his heart rate.

 

Inhale. One two three four five six seven. Exhale. One two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven. Repeat.

 

What must Sherlock think of him now... This pathetic ex-soldier who he had helped get over his psychosomatic limp and had now gotten attached to him like some pitiful leech. It wasn’t like someone as ethereally beautiful as Sherlock could possibly even consider John as a romantic partner. John was sure that the raven haired beauty could have quite literally, anyone he desired. John didn’t even know if the man was attracted to men or not and he had just claimed his lips as if he had had any right to do so.

 

But oh… those lips.

For full seconds John tried his best not to replay as vividly as possible the moments he had felt Sherlock’s lips against his. So soft and full and just as pillowy as they looked from afar.

And the soft sound he had made when John had pulled gently as his hair would be ones to haunt him for the rest of his life. A soft whimper John wanted to believe had been in pleasant surprise.

Still. Kissing him had been wrong. No matter how good it had felt. He should’ve made his intent clear and let Sherlock take the step. Especially if he had never kissed anyone. Which John doubted, considering how gorgeous Sherlock was. He must be lined up with romantic candidates. Maybe he even had a relationship right now and his significant other would now be hunting John down for taking their boyfriend’s plush pink lips.

Great. Just fantastic.

There went John’s chance. Sherlock would, of course, never book him back. He didn’t even have another class to be able to apologize and he could not just simply show up at is classroom unannounced. If you weren’t a student, a teacher or the model assigned you couldn’t just walk into a figure drawing lessons with a nude model. It was in the rules. Dammit.

 

John thought back to Sherlock’s expression moments before he’d botched it all up with his impulsive kiss. He had looked... dazed. Perhaps it had been John’s clouded judgment and want for Sherlock to look like that but... perhaps not?

The cab stopped in front of his apartment, and tossing some bills to the driver, John sighed and went up to his empty apartment. Resolving to not pressure Sherlock into talking to him again. If Sherlock wanted to see him and was willing to forgive and forget John’s monumental idiocy, he would.

…

 

Sherlock walked into class in complete silence. 10 minutes late. His hair was sticking up everywhere, his shirt at least a day old and wrinkled. Not to mention it was stained with paint smudges all around the cufflinks.

 The students were already waiting for him, chattering amongst themselves curiously as to the lateness of their professor. Nothing like this had ever happened before. The second the black-haired professor walked in Molly had gasped, turning to Mike instantly.

“This isn’t good” she whispered.

“What do you think happened?” He hissed back “He looks terrible!”

“I don’t know. But he looks… so unlike himself”

Sherlock couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but from the manner in which his students were positioned towards each other he assumed they were talking about him. Not that he blamed them, really. In his life not once had he ever come to class anything less than perfectly dressed and a minimum of a half hour early. Neither had he ever in his life accidentally painted one of his dress shirts with oil paints, if he wasn’t careful the paint would spread to the rest of his shirt too, one of the disadvantages to oil paints. But his state of dress couldn’t be helped. Ever since the other night, almost 5 days ago, Sherlock had barely been able to stop painting.

John had kissed him. That was a fact.

What was also a fact, however, was that he had stopped kissing him and had immediately left. He had run away even before Sherlock could reciprocate. And he hadn’t contacted Sherlock since.

 

Sherlock, without any kind of experience with relationships, had no pin pointer to what any of this meant for him and John. Did John... like him? Was he somewhat attracted to him but not enough to follow up on the kiss? Did he regret kissing Sherlock? Or did he simply stop because Sherlock was not kissing back and thus assumed, incorrectly of course, that Sherlock had no inclination to kiss him back at all? Sherlock shook his head. He couldn’t keep obsessing over this. It had been days and it was time to stop thinking about it. God knows he had already obsessed over it enough to have made 2 new paintings of John. One after Sherlock had played him the song on the violin. And the other one moments before he’d kissed him. 

He had looked… nervous. But… _wanting._ Sherlock bit his lip, remembering John pulling his lower lip in between his and sucking. _Oh god._

He had to see John again. It didn’t matter if he had to convince John to forget about the kiss. It didn’t matter if John regretted it. Sherlock would promise not to bring it up ever again. But.. he had to see him again. He simply had to.

 

The door to the classroom opened and the model walked in.

 

Sherlock didn’t even bother looking up. He knew it wasn’t John.

The students looked at the woman that had just walked in inquiringly, somehow haven expected John to walk into the room again, beaming at their professor. The model today was one they knew, but that didn’t make her presence any less striking.

 “Hello, Mr. Holmes” the woman purred, stopping in front of Sherlock’s desk. “So glad you finally booked me for one of your classes again”

“Miss Adler” Sherlock acknowledged her with a curt nod, still not looking up.

 “Always so formal…” she turned her head, trying to see what Sherlock was scribbling onto his notebook. “Deducing me already, are you? You haven’t even looked up from that sketchbook of yours” she sounded amused, her voice just as low and smooth.

 “Not deducing. You’re late”

 She hummed “Didn’t sleep much last night. Kate kept me… busy.” She laughed under her breath “Though I can tell you didn’t sleep much either… has someone kept you busy too? Lord knows _I_ tried". 

Sherlock finally looked up “You’re not interested in men, Irene. Why would my love life be of any importance? Not that there is any of which to discuss, anyway” he said, trying not to sound bitter as Irene’s eyes lit up with surprise. 

She clicked her tongue, dropping the subject but sending him a sly wink anyway. A sharp memory of himself doing the same to John on his last class here rose in Sherlock’s memory. _Stop it._

Irene was a model not like any other. For starters, she didn’t even bother with a modesty robe. Proving this very point, she walked about from behind the changing screen already entirely naked and climbed onto the platform, still surprising the students with her confidence even after being a regularly booked model in the class.

 The students loved Irene. For one, with her complete sureness with her own body she was unselfconscious to change poses dramatically and unexpectedly. She also had quite a tongue on her, often responding to some of the more scathing comments Sherlock gave his students with clever sarcastic remarks. All in good nature of course. Irene was nothing if not fun. She was not afraid to correct Sherlock’s lighting of her figure, pointing out that if anyone knew the female body it was her. She was also completely and 100 percent proud and unapologetic over her sexuality.

Sherlock, begrudgingly, of course considered her to be one of the closest things he had to consider a friend. Until John came along. But best not to think about John too much right now.

 “Irene!” Molly exclaimed happily as the woman started arranging the light on her own platform.

“Hey, Molly! Glad to see you again” she grinned “I heard about your scholarship raise. Well done, you deserve it”

“Thanks! How’s Kate?”

“Well, you know... always in the office but happy overall. She certainly knows how to keep me happy anyway” she winked, laughing. A couple of the students laughed with her. Kate, Irene’s girlfriend, used to be a figure model as well until she decided she wanted to pursue a career in law, instead. 

“Okay, enough chit-chat now” Sherlock stood from behind his desk. “To work now. We’re 20 minutes behind schedule so I expect you all to make up for it with energy and good drawings. Gestures poses. Go.”

 

…

 

At the end of the lesson, when the students had left, Sherlock was still sitting at his desk, whether exhausted by the lack of sleep or a rigorous class he didn’t know.

 

Irene walked from behind the screening again, now fully clothed in her siren cut white dress and matching delicate heels. “What is it Holmes? You seem so out of it today. You always nag your students to the ends of the earth and today... nothing? I want to get to shut down your arguments with my incomparable wit-” Sherlock smiled. “What happened today?” she prompted seriously, not concerned eyebrows, no questioning eyes. A demanding no-nonsense inquiry.

 

“Nothing Irene. I’m fine”

 

She narrowed her eyes “You like someone. Don’t you?” Sherlock opened his mouth to deny it but she wasn’t having it “Admit it. What happened? Is he straight? Married? A serial killer? All above?”

 

This was the issue with having someone that was more observant than the average person. Sherlock wondered if this is what people felt when he deduced them aloud. Sighing, Sherlock shook his head “He kissed me”

Irene looked startled “He kissed you? Then what’s the problem?” She hopped onto the table and sat across from him with her legs cross, her lips pulled up into a shocked and proud smile.

 

“He left instantly after! He probably regrets it! He didn’t even let me reciprocate” Sherlock exploded. He hadn’t said the words out loud since John had left, not even to himself. He had mostly kept quiet for the past days, much to the concern of Mrs. Hudson.

 

“Well did you stand there doing nothing as he kissed you? Did you tell him to stay when he left?”

 

Sherlock opened his mouth again, but once more closed it, frowning.

 

“Mhmm... Well, if he kissed you it was for a reason. People don’t just kiss other people out of nowhere. Perhaps he doesn’t think you like him back Sherl. You’re not very good with this kind of stuff”

 

The professor huffed, frustrated. “Well, it’s not like he was very obvious either… was he?” he shook his head again “I’m sure he regrets it”

 “So what if he does? Look. The way I see it you made a connection with someone. Even if you never become anything more, isn’t it enough having someone you click with? Someone that understands you?”

 _Dammit._ He hated it when Irene was right. “Fine”, he said. “So what do I do?”

“You have his number?” she asked, arms crossed. He nodded. “Well then,” she smiled, “there you go!”. She patted his cheek lightly and hopped off the table. “I gotta go now, love. Kate’s probably waiting for me back home. Ta ta!” she called, her heels clicking with every step she took until the door closed behind her and Sherlock could not hear her anymore.

Sighing he unlocked his phone. He needed an excuse, though… biting his lip he coursed through his contact list and finding the one he searched he clicked the call button. The rings and then a voice picked up

“Sherlock? You alright?”

“Lestrade, tell me you have a case for me. Anything. No matter how dull”

 “Funny you should call. I was just about to tell you I have a case for-”

 “Brilliant! What is it? Where is it? Is it higher than a 6? No matter. Just tell me the details.”

 “Oh... umm... okay? A man’s body was found overdosed in a hotel room, apparently a suicide. But the security camera shows the same man checking out of the hotel room and leaving the day before he was found, never coming back inside.”

“Good. Great. Whatever. Where is it?”

Lestrade stammered out the address, startled by the artist’s urgency and Sherlock jotted it on the blank page in front of him. He hadn’t been able to draw anything at all during the last couple of hours. No wonder Irene had been concerned. He finished scribbling down the address and promptly hung up on Lestrade before he could say anything else.  

Taking a deep breath (and before he could think too much about it) he scrolled down his contact list until he found John’s number. He had found it on the model’s agency website... hopefully, John wouldn’t find that too creepy. Then again, he already knew that Sherlock knew where he lived so he guessed knowing his phone number was at least a little bit less intrusive.

 

_Got a case at Sussex Gdns. Hotel Columbus. You in?- SH_

 

He hovered over the send button. Hesitating. There was a very high chance that John wouldn’t want to see Sherlock again. If he was embarrassed or disgusted… which were the most probable outcomes in Sherlock’s mind. There was also the chance that he wouldn’t reply at all.

Biting his lip and remembering the soft feeling of John’s lips against his he closed his eyes and pressed the button on the touch screen, heart hammering away at his chest wildly.  

He stared at his phone intently. Willing it to beep. To vibrate. To do something. He narrowed his eyes at it, gaze rapidly flicking to the signal bars and back to the messages icon. The clock at the very back of the class ticked sluggishly, every second longer than the one before… until eons later (probably just a few minutes but Sherlock counted every moment of it) his phone beeped. Sherlock jumped in his seat in shock and looked around himself, making sure he was still alone and no one had been around to witness that.

Fingers trembling, he clicked on the messages icon.

 

_Sure! Are you there now? –J_

 

The artist didn’t even attempt to tame down the grin that instantly pulled at his lips.

 

_Not yet. I’ll be there in 20. –SH_

This time, the answer was almost instant.

_Great! See you there-J_

 

Standing up so fast he almost knocked over the desk Sherlock began shoveling all of his materials into his bag, feeling his stomach fluttering with nerves but a hopeful feeling spreading through his chest. He had to remember to thank Irene next time he saw her. Maybe he’d invite her and Kate to lunch.

 

………

 

When he got to the hotel the entire place was covered with police tape. He couldn’t see John anywhere but he hadn’t expected too. John would’ve texted him the second he had gotten there if he were at the hotel already. Predictably, Lestrade was waiting for Sherlock right beside the hotel’s entrance, expression worried and completely relying on Sherlock to figure out what had happened inside.

The building was not very tall, four stories and had pale cream walls and two classic Greek columns surrounding the entrance. He had to maneuver through a mass of people crowding in front of the police and news cars until the DI finally spotted him.

“Sherlock there you are! Thank Christ!” he breathed, raising the yellow police tape so Sherlock could walk below it. “We’re stuck here. The man is on the 3rd floor. We have no idea what happened or why".  

“Of course, you don’t,” Sherlock muttered. Lestrade kept babbling on about the case. All incorrect information, Sherlock was sure, so he tuned him out, searching the crowd behind him for a golden blonde head of hair or a set of azure blue eyes.

 “Umm.. looking for someone?” Lestrade asked, finally noticing that he was not listening to a single word he was saying.

 “Yes. John’s coming with me”

“Oh right. That guy. Isn’t that him over there?” he pointed somewhere into the mob of curious people that were trying to get the gossip on what had happened inside the innocent looking hotel. Sherlock’s eyes instantly followed to where the DI was pointing and finally… there was John. He seemed to still be in the process of spotting Sherlock himself, looking a little lost before he rose his cell phone up and started typing something on in.

 

Instantly Sherlock felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and he took it out.

_I made it. Where are you?-J_

Sherlock quickly typed _The entrance. Right in front of the crowd before you. –SH_ and waited.

John looked up.

There it was again. That electric feeling that always seemed to shoot up Sherlock’s spine when his eyes met the model’s. John smiled tentatively, resembling the last almost-smile he gave Sherlock before he jumped in a cab without another word. _Clearly,_  thought Sherlock, _John wants to move past that incident and forget about it._ Sherlock swallowed down his disappointment. He still wanted John in his life. No matter how much John was willing to give him. He would take anything. Resolving to put the kiss behind them and try his best to forget about the precious seconds of memory he had with John he smiled back as friendly as he cold manage.

John caught up to the, easily ducking under the tape when Sherlock raised it for him.

They looked at each other for a moment in silence, trying to figure out how to best pretend like nothing had happened.

“Hi,” John finally said, his voice soft and gentle. “Glad you texted” he smiled, a little more like himself this time but still cautious.

“Glad you came” Sherlock answered, just as softly.

Lestrade looked between the two of them, eyes narrowed in bemusement. “Gentlemen? There’s a dead body upstairs.” It sounded like a question.

Sherlock snapped out of it, turning to look at Lestrade “Of course. Come along John!” he called, walking rapidly inside the hotel’s lobby and knowing John would follow right behind him.

“So,” John started. Sherlock couldn’t see his face as he coursed through the hotel’s lobby and approached the elevator, but he could tell John was probably looking at him uncertainly, still tentative as to how to act around the artist. “What are we dealing with here?”

 “Apparent suicide.” He answered “But he was spotted by the security cameras after his supposed death”

John whistled under his breath. “Sounds… supernatural”

Sherlock scoffed lightly “Hardly. There’s got to be a logical explanation.” The soft huff of John’s muffled giggle followed him and Sherlock’s spirit’s rose a fragment.

They reached the elevator, Sherlock not having noticed Lestrade had fallen behind until the doors had closed and he found himself left alone in an extremely enclosed space with John.  Said man cleared his throat, looking down at his feet self-consciously.

 “So... how was your class today?” John asked, clearly wanting to break the ice that had formed between them once more.

“It was satisfactory.” _Dreadful_ “Irene’s alright.  The student’s like her well enough” Sherlock shrugged.

John hummed “She’s a good model then? Pretty?” he couldn’t help the slight pang of jealousy he felt knowing someone else had been posing naked in front of Sherlock just hours before. Knowing Sherlock had been observing her closely with those unnatural icy eyes and mirroring her exact image carefully onto the paper before him, capturing a piece of her and keeping it with him. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to grit his jaw. After all, he still wasn’t sure what Sherlock thought about their kiss or whether he should bring it up and apologize or not.

 “She’s decent looking I guess… I wouldn’t know.” Sherlock responded, interrupting John’s whirring train of thought “Women aren’t exactly… my area” Sherlock said quickly, not meeting John’s eye.

 

_Oh.._

_OH_.

 John’s heart skipped a beat, and he felt his eyes widen. The jealous knot untangling and being replaced with fluttering warmth and hope. “Oh… right. That’s fine”

 

“I know it’s fine” Sherlock finally turned and met his eyes. Whatever moment they were about to have however was interrupted as the elevator doors opened and a gasping Lestrade appeared before them.

“You guys...” he panted “You aren’t supposed to come upstairs without me. They wouldn’t have let you in.” he gasped a couple of times “Wait for me next time. I had to run up the stairs”. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and motioned them forward “come along then.” He started walking down the narrow hallway towards his left.

In front of one of the doors, several policemen stood, some discussing in quiet murmurs and a couple taking evidence photographs or taking notes of their observations. As Sherlock and John approached the room Sherlock could see another couple of policemen and women taking dust and DNA samples from the body sprawled face up in the center of the room.

The body belonged to a man not older than 35 years of age, medium length blonde hair and dressed pristinely. He was quite handsome and had a short scruffy stubble that, instead of making him look ragged or dirty had probably made him look edgy and mysterious. A wedding ring glistened in short snaps against the light of the flashing photographs and a bottle of pills lay spilled beside his hand, a phone lay on the other as if he had been clutching it the last moments of his life.

 

“I have the tapes here on my phone. The first one is him after he arrived at the hotel. The second is him leaving. There was no sign of him coming back at all.”

Lestrade played the two short tapes to John and Sherlock.

Sherlock observed the tapes in quick blinks, taking in the small details before turning back to observe the man on the floor. He took in the man’s clothing items, the positioning of the body and the items surrounding him in the room and smiled. He was about to speak when- 

“Seems like an obvious case of suicide here. The tapes are obviously some sort of twin or man that just happened to resemble him.” A man’s voice resounded behind them.

Sherlock snorted. “Right. Of course, you lot would think that. What we’re looking at here is clearly a murder.”

 The man who had been speaking, Sherlock now recognized him as the second DI, Dimmock, rounded John and Sherlock and came to face them. He glared at Sherlock before turning to look at Lestrade accusingly “Who invited the freak here?” he demanded.

Sherlock felt John’s body tense beside him instantly, he gave a minuscule side step subconsciously covering Sherlock’s body from the man before them with his own. Sherlock felt a rush of fondness wash over him instead of the sting of hurt from Dimmock’s remark.

 “Oi. He’s here to help.” Lestrade answered defensively “Sherlock, would you care to explain?”

 Sherlock grinned. “Of course. Before that, however, could my companion Mr. Watson and I observe the body more closely? I would like to make sure I am making a fully informed observation.”

John’s body relaxed, clearly taking in Sherlock’s indifference towards Dimmock and enticed by the idea of trying to figure out whatever Sherlock had clearly already observed but wanted to give John an opportunity to do so as well.

Lestrade looked confused by Sherlock’s request but nodded, turning to motion the other policemen taking samples off to give both Sherlock and John some room to work in.

 They approached the body, Sherlock instantly kneeling beside it and raising the man’s left hand for closer inspection. “What do you think John?”

 “Well... the room doesn’t show signs of a struggle. But I suppose the killer could’ve covered that… he doesn’t show signs of any kind of physical harm, though”

 Sherlock nodded “Fantastic, John. What do you think about this ring?”

“The ring?” John frowned, taking a closer look “I’m not sure. It looks old and dirty.” 

Sherlock grinned, standing up “Exactly” he turned back to look at Lestrade.

“This man was a serial adulterer who cheated on his wife repeatedly. She found out and thought murder was the best revenge. She paid the security guard to edit and change the tapes to show the second tape at a different time. The second tape, in fact, takes place only a couple of minutes after he arrives. The people in the distance having a conversation are the very same ones. The second tape is probably the man going out to collect his lover from the cab but it is just cut short as the man leaves the frame.”

He took a deep breath and resumed talking, just as quickly. “This of course for the wife to sneak into the hotel after the lover left, sneak in poison into her husband’s drink and then after he had collapsed left a staged set where it would look like her husband had killed himself. The police are then, of course, befuddled and pay far less attention to the crime scene and more to the tapes. Thus, completely miss the evidence that ruled out suicide completely and incriminated her instead. There. Solved it.”

Everyone stared at him in silence, eyes wide.

“Brilliant” whispered John. 

“That’s bollocks!” exclaimed Dimmock “How could you possibly know he was having affairs? That he didn’t overdose on pills?”

Sherlock sighed dramatically, throwing his arms up in the air “Have you lot even looked at the evidence? The video clearly shows him getting into and out of the hotel and his hand is bare!” he pointed to the body “See? Wedding ring! Dirty wedding ring as Mr. Watson kindly pointed out for you. State of the marriage right there. Now look at the bed sheets- he checked in on the same day he left so why on earth would the bed be unmade if he hadn’t been accompanied? And don’t give me ‘he took a nap’- who on earth leaves the bed looking like that after a nap?”

Dimmock opened his mouth once again but Sherlock interrupted him. “Now how do I know it wasn’t a suicide? There is a very small amount of pills spilling from the bottle. Not enough are missing for it to be an overdose. Now quit being useless, take samples of the poison in the mug and contact the wife. I’m sure she will make a whole show about not knowing the whereabouts of her husband but if questioned she will crack.”

Silence followed once more. Lestrade and John both looked thoroughly impressed, Dimmock looked incredibly offended and annoyed. In the close distance, the rest of the investigators were all pretending to take notes, obviously eavesdropping and trying not to look too obvious.

“Amazing” John was still shaking his head in awed disbelief when Sherlock turned to look at him. He swallowed; his thoughts which had been crystal clear suddenly clouding and leaving nothing but the expression of John’s face and the sparkle in his eyes.

He cleared his throat. “So. Are we done here?” he asked Lestrade.

“Oh… well yes. I suppose so. Wouldn’t you like to interrogate the wife yourself? You always love to see these cases through”

“I’m fine. This was barely a 4” Sherlock shrugged. He nodded at John, who getting the hint turned to leave the scene with one last concerned look at the man lying at the center of the room. Sherlock began to follow but before he left completely he quickly turned to Lestrade “Thank you” he whispered.

“You’re… welcome?”

 Sherlock huffed a laugh, shaking his head in dismissal and followed John down the hall and onto the elevator.

 

….

 

This time, when they arrived at Sherlock’s place they weren’t laughing, but the same giddy feeling was spreading through John’s chest rapidly as he watched Sherlock unlock the door, carefully avoiding his eyes as his hand shook with a small hint of nerves. He didn’t think he would ever see Sherlock again. Let alone be invited onto a case with him. Even less be invited back to Sherlock’s apartment afterward.

Whatever Sherlock’s thoughts on John’s kiss last week were still a bit of a mystery. They had talked easily on the walk back from the crime scene, clearly having successfully avoided the subject and ready to move on. There was no denying that Sherlock enjoyed his company as much as John enjoyed his. Perhaps even if they couldn’t progress their friendship into…. Something more, John could still keep him as a close friend. He would swallow up his feelings and do that. For Sherlock.

“So in your experience cases like this don’t even add up to a five?” John was asking with disbelief

“If you like I could show you the rest of the files I have on cases. Once, I got a solid 10. Took 2 months to crack the case and I slept around 5 times in total. It was brilliant” 

John snickered, trying his best not to roll his eyes at how amazing and wonderfully weird this madman was. “I'd love to see the case files. Hopefully, you’ll get another 10 sometimes soon. Though I’d advise against such erratic sleep patterns”

As soon as Sherlock turned on the lights John's eyes flew to the studio door. It was open and John could just barely peek into the striped white walls inside. He said nothing, however, remembering how last time he had tried to go in Sherlock had instantly panicked.

“So, tea before the case files?” Sherlock asked, a little bit at a loss of what to do know that John was here.

“Sure, that sounds lovely” John smiled sweetly

 

Sherlock scurried into the kitchen, feeling nervous again. He knew he had to bring it up but how? Everything was going so well, clearly, they had moved past it but Sherlock didn’t want to. If anything this might just grow to become a larger problem in the future and he couldn’t lose John. But if he had to lose him… maybe it was best that it was now before Sherlock grew completely attached to the man.

 He brewed the tea and as quick as he could went back into the living room where John was sitting in the squashiest chair he owned, the same one he’d sat on when he’s played the violin, right across from his usual one. He looked like he belonged there Sherlock thought with a smirk.

John didn’t notice Sherlock walk into the living room again and was, as discreetly as he could manage, trying to peer into the studio.

 Sherlock stopped in his tracks and bit his lip. It was now or never. John had to know how he felt. He simply had to. And if this was what was going to drive him away… better now.

“Hi” he whispered

John snapped his gaze back to Sherlock, eyes wide and guilty for having been caught. “Oh hey! I was just umm… I know you said.. but I was- I’m so“

“Do you want to come into my studio?” Sherlock asked calmly, a reassuring smile covering his face and trying his best to mask how fast his heart was suddenly beating.

John stopped babbling and beamed “I would love to” 

Sherlock handed him his tea and motioned towards the open door with his head, leading they way. He let of a long breath quietly, knowing that however he and John’s relationship was going to progress was going to be narrowed down to however the next few minutes. He bit his lip and opened the door the rest of the way, John stepped into the dark room and Sherlock closed his eyes, braced himself and turned on the light.

 

John gasped

 

Five paintings of John hung from the walls. At the bus stop and smiling down. A couple modelling in class, his very favorite was the one where he was looking straight out. Sitting on the chair after the violin serenade. Moments before they kissed.

 John looked around slowly, taking every painting in. There was silence, heavy but not awkward. Sherlock bit his lip and risked looking at John.

He looked absolutely stunned.

“Are these all… are these me?” he sounded dazed.

“Yes. They’re you… For you.” Sherlock murmured softly, heart in his throat, but unable to stop looking at John. He looked so beautiful under the pale lights and the moonlight streaming through the window. John approached the very first painting, the one where he was getting onto the bus.

“Sherlock” he whispered “Sher-”  he observed the painting closely, blinking slowly as if trying to assimilate, to understand.

John walked to the one beside that, the one the second before he had kissed Sherlock. “I can’t believe… you…” he licked his lips, a soft pink blush covering his cheeks.  

He turned to look at Sherlock, who was observing him shyly as if afraid John would disapprove.

“These are... amazing” John beamed

“You… don’t you think it's weird? You’re not weirded out by me?” Sherlock whispered in a rush, needing John to understand that nothing in his life had ever felt as natural to him as painting him. But not wanting him to feel uncomfortable about it.

John shook his head, not comprehending how Sherlock could possibly think he would disapprove of these amazing pieces of art. _This amazing man…_   But something was lingering in the back of his mind “But… Why?” he whispered in awe under his breath. How could someone as gorgeous as Sherlock want to paint someone as broken as himself?

Sherlock looked down at his feet, taking a shuddering breath. “John you…” _here goes nothing._ “You are very beautiful to me”

 John smiled sweetly, the softest tiniest smile Sherlock had ever seen. He instantly wanted to sit down and paint John looking at him like that. John opened his mouth to say something, but something tugged at Sherlock’s heart again 

“You really don’t think it’s strange?” Sherlock whispered, brow furrowing in concern.

 “Sherlock… Oh, Sherlock.” He stepped closer to Sherlock, he could’ve sworn the man was shaking very slightly, nervous. But John finally understood. He finally knew that that kiss hadn’t been a mistake. The mistake was stopping, and letting him go. “If I could draw, or paint.” John continued, barely a foot away from Sherlock now and feeling his body heat. He looked into his eyes, willing him to understand and raising a hand to smooth out the crinkled in-between of Sherlock’s eyebrows. “All I would ever draw would be you.” He moved his hand to cup Sherlock’s cheek, feeling the red heat beneath his fingertips.

 Sherlock looked so dumbstruck by John’s words the latter couldn’t help but giggle softly, watching Sherlock blink rapidly whilst trying to process John’s words and feeling a rush of fondness for the man before him. He smoothed his thumb across Sherlock’s cheekbone _that goddamn cheekbone._

“I imagine” John breathed out “drawing this cheekbone, this mess of raven curls” he caught one of the with his index finger, his hand still not moving far from Sherlock’s pink soft face. “The lightning shock of your pale skin” John murmured, tracing his finger down Sherlock’s neck, feeling his sharp intake of breath. “Your sharp-cut jawline” he traced it delicately and Sherlock could picture the painting John was describing. For a moment, seeing himself the way John saw him. Not pointy and lanky but beautiful. Under John’s gaze, he felt so beautiful…

 John continued tracing Sherlock’s face softly, whispering under his breath “the deep delicious curve of you lips” he murmured, the pad of his finger barely a whisper against Sherlock’s lips. Said lips puckered slightly under the touch, lightly kissing John’s finger as his eyes slipped closed and his heart thudded boomingly against his chest.

“Gorgeous…” John finished, leaning closer. Sherlock’s eyes opened slowly, meeting John’s gaze in a now familiar strike of electricity between them. John raised his other hand and took Sherlock’s face between both of them, his cheeks significantly warmer than they had been a moment ago. 

“John” Sherlock choked out, sounding longing and hopeful

“Oh Sherlock” John moved his hand onto the back of Sherlock’s neck and gently pulled him in. He smiled at him tenderly, leaning in very slowly so Sherlock could make up his mind if this wasn’t something he wanted. 

 “I thought you regretted our kiss the other day” he sighed sadly

“How could I regret you kissing me? When…” Sherlock had closed his eyes once again and rested his forehead against John’s. “When I cannot think of anything else anymore?” 

John inched closer and licked his lips, his breath now caressing Sherlock’s face gently “Me either” he whispered and nudged at Sherlock’s face with his own, searching. With one last look at Sherlock’s open and vulnerable face, John closed his eyes and kissed Sherlock’s awaiting pink lips and sighed. _Perfect._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT WAS SO CHEESY IM SORRY. I just... they wanted to be cheesy and I just couldn't NOT let them you know? Anyway.. interesting events will unfold next chapter if you know what i mean ;))))


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update in under a week? whaat?  
> Here is where..um...events unfold ;) I hope it turned out alright <3<3<3

 

John grasped the back of Sherlock’s hair with one hand, teasingly pulling at the sensitive roots as his other hand travelled around Sherlock’s waist and rubbed soothing circles, inching down slowly. Their chests were pressed tightly together and their lips waking wet sounds into the surrounding space.

 

At first, John had very chastely kissed Sherlock’s lips, not wanting to freak him out again and now knowing Sherlock would most likely not respond for the first couple of moments. Sherlock, however, at the first touch of lips instantly hummed in pleasure and wrapped his arms around John’s neck, pushing his chest onto the blonde, urging him to hold him tighter. As soon as he felt John’s one of strong arms wrap around his waist he had opened his mouth, instinctively wanting to taste every inch of him.

 

Taking the hint, John opened his mouth against Sherlock’s and traced his tongue with his own. And then it was all the wet heat of another mouth, the warmth of another tongue curling against his and the soft plush of pulling lips. He bit Sherlock’s delectable lower lip and was rewarded with the sound of the artist moaning in surprise into his mouth. Sherlock tasted of honey and tea and John never wanted to taste any other pair of lips.

 

He felt Sherlock lightly tap his tongue with his own, hesitant and unsure. Again the question of Sherlock’s experience popped into John’s head. Sherlock was far too good at this to be new at it… but then again, this was Sherlock. _Of course,_ he would be brilliant at everything. With every passing moment Sherlock was getting more and more confident, clearly learning and observing what his partner liked, what made him hum and what made him pull Sherlock’s body against his more desperately.

 

It took everything John had but pulled back momentarily, both of them instantly taking gasping breaths and panting as if they had run for miles. “Sher-“ John gasped out. “Have-“

 

“I’ve never done- ngh- any of this before” Sherlock gasped out, somehow even in the heat of this moment knowing exactly what John would say. He was looking at John through his heavily hooded eyes, lips parted and kiss-red.

 

“oh”, John loosened his hold on him, not wanting to pressure Sherlock into anything he wasn’t ready for. How had this gorgeous man never even kissed another pair of lips in his life? Some animal instinct just made John want to hold him tighter, claim Sherlock as his own. Here was his own blank canvas for him to claim and possess for himself and himself solely. But he couldn’t think like that. If Sherlock hadn’t done anything with anyone ever, John wouldn’t be one to pressure him to do so this fast.

 

“Don’t-“ Sherlock whispered, in response to John pulling away. “I want this… I want _you_ ” he murmured, one of his hands sneaking into the back of John’s neck and scratching his hands teasingly down to the collar of his shirt.

 

John gave in with a groan, recapturing Sherlock’s lips and pulling the artist in with both hands around the small of his back. With trembling hands, he rubbed Sherlock’s sides gently, feeling the man’s spiking pulse directly against his chest and wanting to soothe him _I’m here. I’ve got you._

He detached momentarily from Sherlock’s addictive mouth and kissed his sharp jaw and slowly down his neck, leaving a slight wet trail. Sherlock was moaning softly under his breath, craning his neck and letting his head fall back to give John better access. John wasn’t sure Sherlock was even aware that he was making any sound, but with every soft whimper, a warm jolt went down to John’s groin. His hands tentatively slid down to Sherlock’s sharp hips, hesitant.

“For god’s sakes, John. Just touch me already” Sherlock growled, his snapping tone dumbed down by the breathless quality of his voice when John lightly bit down on the side of his neck and _sucked_.  

 

John huffed a laugh “bossy”, he murmured into the hollow meet of the man’s shoulder and neck but complied and slowly, teasingly, his hands travelled around Sherlock’s arse and squeezed, raising his mouth to meet Sherlock’s again. They kissed with abandon, John kneading Sherlock’s arse gently with both hands as the latter panted into his mouth, hot sweet breath spilling out whilst trying to press himself closer to John’s strong chest.

He felt his blood pooling in his groin, tightening his pants, and couldn’t help the instinctive thrust of hips that aligned him with John’s. His answering bulge pressed against Sherlock’s and he hissed out in pleasure, pushing himself even further until-

 

John tried to take a step back but stumbled upon one of the many small tables Sherlock had lying around with paint palettes and paintbrushes. John staggered back, pulling Sherlock with him and they fell in one tangled heap onto the ground, clutching each other in surprise.

The question of whether Sherlock was alright or not died in his lips as Sherlock exploded in surprised giggles which John couldn’t help but join in. “You tripped over my paint sets” he gasped out between laughs

 

“Oh god. I’m sorry” John snickered, trying his best to go back to serious

“It’s fine but” he chuckled “Your shirt is covered in green and blue paint ha hah” he tucked his head beside John’s neck, muffling his giggles and on a brave whim started peppering wet kisses on the golden skin.

 

John hummed “Well... maybe” kiss on Sherlock’s forehead “I could...” kiss on Sherlock’s nose “just take..” Kiss on Sherlock’s lips “it off” he kissed Sherlock’s lips again, stroking his tongue against Sherlock’s before taking said tongue into his mouth and sucking it lightly. Sherlock’s breath hitched.

“Oh god yes” he panted, turning to take John’s earlobe between his teeth and tugging. He instantly started unbuttoning John’s shirt with shaking clumsy fingers as fast as he could.

John snickered “shhh love, it’s okay” he raised Sherlock’s right hand to his lips and kissed it lightly “I’ll take care of it”. Then he calmly unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, Sherlock watched the process with wide eyes, taking in every sliver of tanned skin John revealed. The fact that John used the word ‘love’ thrummed in his mind in never ending echoes, he felt his blush darkening. Surely John had said it as a reflex, but that didn’t diminish the warmth or the fluttering in Sherlock’s stomach.

 

The artist helped John shrug off the paint-stained shirt and watched it slither onto the floor hungrily. He was now straddling John’s legs, kneeling on the floor and severely suspecting his expensive suit pants were also getting their fair share of paint stains but being unable to care at all for the moment.

 He bit his lip and started unbuttoning his own shirt, bringing forward his hips to grind down his rapidly filling erection against John’s. “Oh..” he sighed. How had he never done any of this before? Well, not that he’d want to do this with anyone other than John.

 

“Christ, Sherlock” John tightened his hold on Sherlock’s hips and pulled him closer to meet the thrust of his hips as the latter pulled off his shirt and threw it across the room, flinging himself back into John’s embrace and claiming his mouth over and over again.

 

“Shall we…” John started

“Yes”

 

Sherlock stood up from straddling John’s legs in one swift move, managing to only stumble slightly and held out his hand to pull the model up from the ground. John beamed and took it, tugging himself up. The smell of wet paint was pungent in the air and John didn’t know if his dizzy mind was because of it, or due to the fact that now that he was standing he could see the entire expanse of Sherlock’s pale chest and the gorgeous pink blush spreading through it.

 

Sherlock smirked, looking smug at catching John staring so blatantly and no doubt, with fully dilated and lustful eyes.

 

They stumbled along the flat, the model blindly following as Sherlock pulled him up the stairs into the darkened hallway and pulled him in as his back crashed against what he presumed was the bedroom door. They kissed and kissed and Sherlock patted his hand against the wood of the door behind himself, trying to find the metal of the doorknob and failing miserably. “One moment” he grumbled against John’s insistent lips, he turned as fast as he could and turned the doorknob, pushing the door open with as much force as he could manage and dragging an enthusiastic John into the room with him.

 

After short fumbling hands on belt buckles and zippers, they finally managed to get each other naked.

Sherlock couldn’t stop staring.

He’d, of course, seen John naked before. But seeing his from a distance lit up by artificial white lights and a room full of students was entirely different to seeing him like this, only lit by the dim moonlight, panting, pressed close against him, hard cock dragging wetly against his own in enticing bursts of sizzling pleasure.

 

“Jo-hn” he hissed brokenly. “please” he didn’t even know what he was begging for but needed it. He needed John and he needed him now.

John held him tighter, kissing the side of his neck a couple of times with murmured soothing words and gently pushed him down onto the mattress.

 

“I’ve got you”, the words were exhaled into the hollow of his collarbone. He felt John press his weight on top of him and he sighed, feeling every inch of John press against him skin to skin and reveling in it. “What do you want love?” John kissed down his chest, taking one of his peaked nipples into his mouth and sucking it gently. Sherlock cried out, surprised by the intensity of the feeling.

 

“I… I” he panted, unable to find the words.

_My god that’s hot._ John thought. Just seeing Sherlock, wise witty Sherlock unable to come up with any coherent string of words and knowing that _he_ was the cause of it. John smirked, licking a flat strip across the very same nipple and feeling Sherlock shudder beneath him, eyes closed. He caressed up and down the artist’s ribs with one hand and pinched the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He felt every crevice and curve of his sides and slowed, giving him a chance to answer, soothing him.

 

“John” he breathed “kiss me. Please”

 

No need to tell _him_ twice. John crawled up Sherlock’s long body once more and captured those perfect rosy lips, still marveling at the fact that he was finally allowed to. His opened pliantly beneath him, tongue much more confidently exploring inside his mouth, tasting every inch of him and, no doubt, cataloguing everything.

After a few minutes of this, however, the tender touches were no enough and Sherlock’s hips were subconsciously driving up, trying desperately to find friction and relief. John complied, snaking a hand between them and curling his finger’s around the other man’s length.

 

Sherlock’s hips bucked uncontrollably as he cried out into John's mouth and wrapped his arms around his back tightly. John pressed his lips against Sherlock’s open ones chastely, then peppered kisses all around his face. A stream of breathless ‘John’s’ stuttered out from Sherlock’s lips and into the soft golden hair under his lips.

John smoothed his thumb on the swollen red velvet head of the other man’s cock, spreading the leaking wetness down onto his shaft and _pulling._ Sherlock whimpered nails digging into John’s back, needing something to ground him, needing John to ground him. Soft little groans escaped him as he felt the weight of John’s cock dragging wetly against his hip, panting against Sherlock’s neck. “Sher-” the blonde purred.

 

John hummed, biting down on Sherlock’s sweet collarbone and kissing down his chest. He lightly dipped his tongue into Sherlock’s bellybutton, loving how his chest expanded and contracted up and down, showing off all the gorgeous little love bites John had speckled around the pale white skin. He reached down the V muscles between Sherlock’s hips and caressed the soft beginnings of pubic hair below, shifting down on the bed and watching Sherlock for any signs of hesitation.

He kissed the small brown freckle on his hip lightly, suggestively. “Sherlock,- can I? please?” the artist’s cock twitched in anticipation, John’s mouth watered just observing it. It was just as gorgeous as Sherlock was, long, throbbing and lying full and flat against Sherlock’s stomach, slit weeping vigorously.

 

Sherlock nodded, eyes shut tight and mouth parted

“I need to hear you say it love” John murmured, kissing the inside of his thigh and pulling it above his shoulder as he braced himself.

“Yes John” Sherlock gasped out “Please” he added.

 

John smiled, kissing his thigh reverently before reaching up and promptly licking a stripe up Sherlock’s length, wrapping his lips on the head, and sucking tenderly. Sherlock had had no idea he could make such a large amount of noise with such a simple touch, but the heat of the other man’s mouth around his was so intense, so incredible.

 

The model groaned around him, which only sent more thrills of pleasure up Sherlock’s spine and made his mind whirl and buzz. He reached down a hand a clutched at his lover’s hair, needing to touch him somehow, feel him. His thighs kept shaking and he couldn’t help the tiny thrusts up into John’s mouth, a little self-conscious but encouraged by the blonde’s reassuring gentle hands on his thighs.

John bobbed his head a couple of times, humming at the feeling of Sherlock’s fingers in his hair and loving the sensation of Sherlock’s cock thicken against his caressing tongue and his balls tightening under his probing fingertips.

 

“J- uhh” Sherlock said, breathlessly, he tried again “I need to feel you... John”. He raked his nails up John’s back, silently urging him to come up higher.

The blonde let him go with an obscenely wet pop, just the sound making him even more desperate to get closer to Sherlock. He was instantly pulled down and kissed, Sherlock able to taste himself on John’s tongue and humming deeply.

Sherlock reached down with a shaking hand and took John in hand, marveling at feeling the thickness and the warmth of this man’s erection for the very first time. It was so much larger than he had pictured. He squeezed, rewarding instantaneously by John’s reverberating groan. “Oh Sherlock” he hissed

 

John reached down and took Sherlock in hand too, both stroking each other wetly and knowing at the pace they were going this wasn’t going to take very long anymore but enjoying every pleasurable second.

Soon enough Sherlock’s toes were curling and he was pulsing in John’s hand and spilling against their stomach’s between them, gasping out and whimpering, his other hand grasping John tightly and digging his nails into the small of John’s back desperately.

 

That was enough to spark John into his own climax, moaning freely against Sherlock’s chest and kissing every bit of pale skin he could reach almost worshipfully, whispering his name.

 

They panted in unison for a couple of minutes, basking in the euphoria of being so close to each other, of finally breaking the unspoken barrier between them. Sherlock still had his long arms firmly wrapped around John’s warm body and did not feel even the slightest inkling of letting him go. John Watson. In his arms. In his bed. In his life.

 

….

 

When Sherlock woke up he was still mostly enveloped in darkness. The first wisps of daylight from the sunrise were beaming through the gap between the white curtains. He shifted around, momentarily forgetting why he felt so exhausted and sated but he suddenly realized that what was underneath his head did not feel like a pillow at all and raising his head slightly he turned and was faced with the gorgeous sleeping figure of John Watson.

 

Hours earlier John had convinced Sherlock to let go of him momentarily just so he could grab a flannel from the bathroom and clean them up both, insisting they would end up sticky and crusty if he didn’t. Sherlock pouted in protest but was convinced after a couple of kisses and a gentle hand coursing through his sweaty curls.

 

Afterwards, John had crawled into bed once more, pulled Sherlock against his chest and made sure he was alright, knowing the first sexual experience with a partner could be quite intense. Sherlock had mumbled an affirmation, shyly hiding his face in the crook of John’s neck and pressing his lips against the warm skin, breathing him in. In truth, Sherlock _was_ quite shaken, but in the very best of ways.  He had never even imagined John would ever feel the same about him. And even if they still had to talk, confirm and discuss what they were and meant to each other Sherlock could not remember a time where he had felt more content than he did now lying across John’s chest, hearing his calming heartbeat and sleepy sighs against his hair.

 

Now, hours later, Sherlock bit his lip, marveling at the fact that John had stayed with him, had fallen asleep in his bed and hadn’t let go of Sherlock for hours.

With all his strength of will, the artist raised himself gently, sneaking under John’s arms and slipping through so he could sit up properly. John sniffled in displeasure and shifted but didn’t wake.

Sherlock reached behind him and carefully drew out a notebook and pencil from the bedside table. He hoped John wouldn’t mind. Would this be considered as not good? Sherlock frowned. But… he just couldn’t help himself. He opened the notebook at a blank page and looked up at John again. He looked so peaceful, so serene. So beautiful. Sherlock smiled.

 

He drew John. His feet, his hands, his closed eyelids and relaxed lips parted open. He drew John after he sleepily turned around, maybe subconsciously tracking Sherlock’s body heat and shifting closer. John now lay on his stomach, the white sheets tangled between his legs and revealing only one of his round and plump arse cheeks. Sherlock let out a shuddering breath. He had now seen John naked in both a professional and a sexual context. But this was new again. John had fallen asleep and allowed him to be next to him at his most vulnerable. His nakedness was not his only vulnerability, as John was fairly confident in his body, but it was a vulnerability of the soul. To let himself he so bare and vulnerable in sleep next to Sherlock, in every possible way.

 

He’d done all of John’s paintings from memory, and just a couple of quick drawings in class. But now he saw that having the man’s body, living and breathing right in front of him could simply not be compared. His mind could never draw justice to John’s beauty and strength. And the memory behind why John was in front of him now... Of why John was lying before him entirely nude in Sherlock’s bed. Tangled in Sherlock’s bed sheets.

His heart fluttered in pleasure.

 

He drew the memory of their intimate moments into the light reflected from John’s neck and shoulders, the darkening love bites he sucked onto his neck, the remaining redness in his lip, his hair- mussed up by the movements, the squashy pillows and Sherlock’s pulling and caressing fingers. Sherlock lovingly sketched and shaded and drew every part of John into a couple of pages of his notebook.

 

John stirred, Sherlock didn’t stop sketching but slowed, watching John’s eyes drowsily blink open and look confused for a couple of moments before they caught sight of Sherlock. “Hello, you” he slurred out, voice slow with sleep but coated with honey.

Sherlock blushed looking down, trying to hide his smile

 

“Are you drawing me, gorgeous?” he sighed happily, closing his eyes again

 

“Yes,” Sherlock whispered, “Is that okay?”

“More than okay, but it’s so early. Why don’t you come back here with me?” he opened his arms, still not opening his eyes.

 

Sherlock grinned happily, closing the book and hurriedly placing it and the pencils behind him on the bedside table. He slid back into the sleepy warmth of John’s arms, the delight of once again being pressed skin to skin with John Watson made his heart swell and his stomach flutter joyfully.

He closed his eyes and felt John pull up the sheet around them, “Goodnight, Sherlock”, he kissed his temple tenderly.

Sherlock sighed, draping his arm across John’s chest and holding him close. “Goodnight, John”, he said softly and let sleep drift him off away in his now-lover’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they finally did the sexytime...and i wrote it....*blushes profusely and runs away to hide*  
> <3<3<3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! It means a lot to me that you guys are liking this fic and leaving such sweet comments<3! They really do encourage me to write faster <3<3

 

Molly Hooper was sitting next to Mike Stamford Tuesday morning, just finishing setting everything up for the lesson. They were watching their teacher closely as he fiddled with his thumbs. He certainly looked better than last Tuesday, when he’d showed up looking like he hadn’t slept in weeks and his shirt was covered in paint. On Thursday’s lesson, he’d looked significantly better. Irene had walked into the room and they had had a long whispered conversation in which Irene had looked smug and Sherlock had gone from annoyed to dare she say… a bit giddy?

Now the next week had arrived and their professor looked… well? Anxious? Molly wasn’t sure.

“Well he definitely looks more rested than last Tuesday” pointed out Mike

Molly hummed “I’m not sure. Seems to me like he’s been awake for hours. Look at his hair. I don’t think I'd ever seen him with his hair so perfectly curled before. And look at his suit…absolutely pristine. It looks like he ironed it and immediately put it on.” Molly narrowed her eyes, watching as Sherlock leaned over his desk inconspicuously and looked over to the door.

“Well... I don’t know. But something tells me it’s not going to be Irene Adler or any other model like that through that door” he turned to look at Moly meaningfully

Her eyebrows rose sharply “You don’t think-“

The door opened and John walked in, strutting directly to Sherlock’s desk and leaning over to whisper something. Her professor…giggled? Molly turned sharply to Mike eyebrows risen completely and mouth turning up into a wide grin. “Oh…my god”

 

….

 

“Hey, you” John whispered, leaning over his desk.

 Sherlock couldn’t help the tiny giddy giggle that escaped his lips. After their afternoon together on Tuesday and their equally wonderful morning on Wednesday, they hadn’t seen each other. With each other’s full classes and differing schedules they hadn’t been able to make the time.

Sherlock had booked him for this class, a little nervous as to whether John would be okay with that but convincing himself to book him anyway. The blonde sure seemed okay to be here class again, all smug eyes and dazzling grins. He walked over to the changing screen and the professor instantly looked down to his paper, heart beating fast.

Now that John was here he was convinced that this was both his very best and his very worst idea. He wasn’t sure how on earth he would react to seeing the man naked again after…after. 

Said man walked out, modesty robe loosely tied on his hips and Sherlock could’ve sworn the smile he threw his way was filled with hunger.

“Hey, John!” Mary called out “So nice to see you again!”

The model greeted her, grinning as the rest of the class agreed and welcomed him enthusiastically.Sherlock smiled, the fact that his class liked John and hadn’t even questioned having him here again making him sigh in relief. He caught Molly’s eye, she was smiling straight at him. Sherlock frowned, confused but made nothing of it and gave her a bemused smile back.

John climbed onto the platform, already knowing where to place the lights and turning them on before Sherlock turned off the main ones in the room. He fiddled with the belt of his robe, making sure to catch Sherlock’s eye before he slipped it off his body. Sherlock gulped audibly, trying his best not to stare at the model's body too blatantly. Obviously, he HAD to watch him as to be able to choose the best pose for the first hour but... he would have to make sure he remained calm and collected. 

He breathed in deeply, counted to three and turned to look at John.

The memory of John bathed in moonlight whilst draped with Sherlock’s sheets above his middle was certainly the most beautiful memory of John Watson Sherlock would ever have the pleasure of having. Full rooms of his mind palace were dedicated to solely that night.. and the next morning. But seeing him now after not seeing him for so many days.. Sherlock could not contest the fact that even under the fake white lights of the classroom, John took Sherlock’s breath completely away.

The artist could’ve sworn he saw John’s lip curl up, he cleared his throat and straightened his posture.

Carefully he circled the platform, surveyed the model from every angle until he knew exactly what he wanted for the first pose of the day. “Go down on one knee please, John”

John complied, setting himself down onto the floor of the platform and kneeling.

“Now turn your upper body towards the left and look at the far wall… yes, good. Raise your arm behind your neck. Higher. Elbow up. The other hand on your knee, elbow bent”

Sherlock hummed, unsure. He walked over to John, placing his hand in the crook of his elbow and pulling it up gently. John’s breath hitched almost imperceptible, certainly inaudible to anyone that wasn’t Sherlock. Now that he had had a touch of John he felt unable to stop himself from getting more. He rose his hand, lightly and deliberately touching along the length of the man's arm. He could feel those deep midnight eyes watching him. He breathed out shakily and his hand travelled up his shoulder and onto John’s other arm which was curled above his head with his elbow pulled up, and straightened it tenderly.

 He knew he was pushing his luck but he simply could help himself. So finally he moved his hand and pressed it lightly against John’s cheek, turning his head in the direction opposite to which his torso was turned, allowing a clear view of John’s gorgeous golden neck and sharp square jaw. He could feel the heat of the blonde’s face beneath his open palm and his own face answering with the same heat in his cheeks. His eyes slowly glanced down his body, catching sight of his abdominals, strong thighs and his soft cock lying between them, it didn’t help that he knew exactly what it’s weight and taste was like against his tongue.

With a final clear of his throat, he released John’s face. “Right. Um. Get to work. No gesture drawing today. Just long poses.”

 He expected everyone to groan, knowing that one of the student’s favorite parts was always the gesture poses due to their quick nature and lack of need for perfection, it was more about reacting as fast as they could to the way they saw the body before them. But no one made a sound. Turning around to look at his student’s he noticed everyone seemed pretty focused on their drawing, but they looked almost… too focused. As if faking it. As if haven been caught witnessing something they shouldn’t have. 

Sherlock caught Molly’s eye again. This time, she looked over at John and back at him and grinned giving one firm nod in approval, almost in pride. Sherlock’s eyes widened and he quickly looked away. He hadn’t been that obvious. had he? Better not think about it.

He walked around the room slowly, still feeling John’s eyes following his progress as if tracking his prey. He felt his heart thumping against his chest, wanting nothing more than for all the students to disappear so he could tackle John and kiss him against the floor of the platform. Or a wall. Or any conceivable surface around.

Judging by the way the blonde had reacted to him so far today he would say he would most likely not be against such behavior. Then again... was that all John wanted? Someone to… shag? They had never really gotten around to talk, being far too absorbed in a repeat performance the morning after, when Sherlock had wrapped his lips and tongue around John’s cock and… _Oh god stop thinking about that. Stop it._

Sherlock tried to focus on the student’s drawings and stopped in front of Sally’s. He could see some very serious perspective mistakes when it came to John’s upturned arm and how that had been measured against John’s back. His back look far smaller than it actually was, he should know. He looked up and compared the drawing to John silently, and promptly looked down again. On John’s back… he could very faintly see scratch marks. Scratch marks he remembered putting there himself.

“This..uh is a great start, Sally. Make sure you measure properly by closer observation on the model. But it's great!” he rushed out, careful not to make eye contact in case she could see the red blush he could already feel colouring his cheeks.

 Sally looked at him, mouth slightly agape and Sherlock froze, afraid he’s somehow let the secret out, accidentally confessed to being shagged by the model into the mattress repeatedly.

“Th-thanks!” she said, quickly, still seeming shell shocked.

_Huh. Guess he hadn’t confessed to any indiscrete behavior then…good._

He kept walking around the class, occasionally stopping behind a student and commenting on their work. Usually, he got stiff backs and maybe a frown thrown his way but today he was getting... thank you's? Surprised looks and smiles? What had changed?

During the break Sherlock was buzzing with the need to talk to John, to somehow confirm what they’d done and what Sherlock hoped they were now to each other. He waited somewhat awkwardly behind his desk, pretending to arrange some papers but sneaking glances at John as he reached for his modesty robe and slipped it on. John hopped off the platform and looked up at Sherlock, smiling mischievously. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, perhaps invite him to a coffee from the cafeteria but-

“Hey, John!”

Ah great. Of course, bloody Anderson was now talking to John. Clearly, he had noticed the way his Sally had been staring at him and now wanted to make himself the center of her attention once more. Fantastic.

 

….

 

By the end of the class, Sherlock had had nothing more than silent contact between himself and John. To be fair he’d seen the blonde looking at him all throughout the class, especially in the second half of the day when he had taken out an easel and had joined his student for the last couple of poses of the day. Unspoken acknowledgement of the last time Sherlock had drawn him was communicated in looks and appreciative glances down each of their bodies.

Now, as soon as class was over John had slipped on his robe but had made no move to change, pick up his things and leave the classroom. The students, clearly exhausted after the day were leaving quite rapidly so Sherlock didn’t have to pretend to fiddle with his pencils for too long before John approached his desk. The last student left and closed the door behind them, and John instantly beamed up at Sherlock shyly. “Hey”

“Hi” Sherlock smiled

“Can I see?” John motioned towards Sherlock’s drawings.

“Oh. Of course” 

John hopped up on the table, reminiscent of how Irene Adler had done just the week before. He smiled inwardly at the memory, knowing how excited Irene had become once Sherlock had confessed to her that he and John had.. figured things out a couple of days later during their second lesson. “You sly dog!” she had hissed, grinning wolfishly down at him whilst he grinned helplessly. 

John was flipping through the large drawing pages, mouth gaping in awe. “Sherlock… Every time I think you could get more talented and amazing… these are so wonderful” he looked up at him “It’s like…  I’m watching who I am. Who I am inside when I see your drawings, your paintings.” he said, remembering the many times he had felt that, and the times he had known when Sherlock was looking at him he was looking at everything he was, the good and the bad.

“John…” Sherlock whispered. He stared at him, silently asking, begging for a kiss without the courage of asking for one. He licked his lips, his breath hitching as he watched John observe the path of his tongue across his bottom pouting lip and bite his own in response. 

He quickly made sure the door was closed with a glance before he slowly raised his hands and cupped Sherlock’s face between them both, “I’ve been waiting all day for this” he said.

The artist, eyes closing in the soothing warmth of his hands, just sighed “waiting for what?” he asked, voice small and feeling completely at ease, finally whole again now beneath the model’s caressing fingertips

Instead of answering, the model ducked his face and captured Sherlock’s already parted lips with his own and hummed in relief. Sherlock’s arms instantly latched out and his hands curled around John's forearms, grounding himself and keeping John close to him. He opened his mouth, the need to taste John against his tongue taking over, the deep taste of tea and wood-smoke. Complying with Sherlock’s pulling hands John plunged his tongue into Sherlock’s warm mouth and _took_. Lips latching and separating over and over again in soft wet whispers of breath in the empty classroom.

Sherlock stood, crawling onto the desk and next to the model in a desperate need to get closer to him. He already felt his suit pants tightening rapidly as John’s hands became bolder against his neck, caressing the skin up and down, trailing softly over a couple of hidden love bites under his shirt Sherlock had thanked god he had been able to hide from his students (especially Molly) by pulling up his shirts collar. John, instead, lowered himself onto the ground and pulled up Sherlock with him, taking a strong hold onto Sherlock’s waist before his hands reached down and took a hold of his arse, pulling him up and supporting his weight as Sherlock’s legs instinctively wrapped around John’s waist and gasped in surprise and arousal at the clear display of strength.

“John!” Sherlock giggled, his hands rose up to the blonde's nape and pulled him down, urging their mouths to lock again, grinning. The other man just laughed smugly, their kiss more of a pressing of giddy grins but neither caring too much. Sherlock ground himself as best as he could against John, delighted to feel an answering bulge just beneath the single layer of clothing. 

The model was holding him completely up by just a strong hold on his arse and he wasn’t even showing any signs that this was taking up effort, he attacked Sherlock’s neck with sucks and licks and Sherlock, unable to help himself any longer snuck a hand between them and pulled at the strong tying John’s modesty robe. He clawed and pulled at it until at last, it fell from his shoulders and onto the ground. The blonde groaned, walking backwards until he felt the cold platforms metal edge make contact with the inside of his knee and he lowered himself until he was sitting on it, effectively having Sherlock’s knees surrounding his thighs in a seductive straddle. 

The model pulled away from his attack on the professor’s neck long enough for his lover to whine in protest, but also long enough to see where Sherlock’s zipper was pushing out, tenting his pants so he could tug it down, needing to see Sherlock _now_. Sherlock spasmed against him, wailing loudly in equal parts surprise and pleasure as John pulled him out of his pants and into his rough calloused fingers. Turning his face up again to swallow Sherlock’s groans into his mouth and soothe them with his tongue, John aligned both of their erections together and began to stroke. The wetness gathered from both of their dripping slits was enough to make them slick. “Christ Sherlock, you’re so beautiful…”

In the back of his mind, the artist knew they really shouldn’t be doing this. Not just because they were still in school…Still in his classroom. But because they really needed to sort themselves out. They needed to have a talk to know what they meant to each other. Whether this was just physical attraction and a way for both of them to get off- or whether John did, in fact, want something… more. But it was so difficult to think… with the other man’s hand around them both. Feeling him against his body, the grand expanse of chest sheathed in sweat, pliant and warm underneath his roaming hands. It was so hard to care about anything other than the man under him when he could pull John’s lips with his teeth, stroke John’s tongue with his tongue, elicit gorgeous deep moans from that exquisite throat every time he thrust into the tight hold of his closed fist.

It wasn’t long before the pace of his hand sped up around them, John's other hand rubbed soothing circles on the artist’s back in an attempt for him to quiet his high moans and sighs, not because John didn’t like them but because well… they were still in a classroom and the door was not locked. Soon enough, though, the pleasure built up too much as John’s hand roamed down to Sherlock’s arse, squeezing and pulling him even closer onto his lap, Sherlock groaned brokenly, arched against John's chest and with a high sob he spilled onto his lover’s hand, strings of come painting John's chest and the tails of his own shirt, not that he cared in the slightest. John followed with a deep grunt, biting down on Sherlock’s collarbone and hugging the man above him tightly. “God that was brilliant” he exhaled.

The artist nodded, still unable to speak around his puffing breaths. His hands clutched at his lover's back in an almost hug, needing to be held. John, understanding, kept on holding him tight, raised his lips and kissed his cheeks and closed eyelids. Sherlock let out a quiet shuddering breath, the question of what they meant to each other dying on the tip of his tongue and the seam of his open lips, knowing he wouldn’t be able to bear it if John didn’t feel the same intensity as he did for him. And in this moment, as John whispered compliments and endearments in his ear it was so easy to pretend that they were already together and that John would never let go. 

“Come on, you. We need to clean ourselves up” his lover laughed softly against the damp skin of his collarbones.

“Mmmno” the artist hummed, gripping the blonde’s shoulder’s tighter.

John chuckled and rose himself up again, carrying Sherlock with both hands cupping the deliciously rounded globes of his arse as he had done before, the professor’s long legs enfolding themselves up around him once more, in an effort not to be set down. The model took him to his desk and carefully unwrapped those elongated limbs from himself, Sherlock whining in protest half-convincingly as his laugh quite of tampered the effect. “One moment, I’ll be right back” John promised, kissing Sherlock’s curls and walking towards the changing screen.

 He came back with a handkerchief, dampened from the sink on the far end of the room (used for the painting classes that took place in this classroom on Monday’s and Wednesday’s). He carefully cleaned them both up, Sherlock tucking himself back into his pants looking quite pleased. John snorted, enjoying feeling Sherlock’s eyes follow him all the way back to the changing screen to get back into his normal clothes. “Enjoying the view?” he called back

“Immensely” Sherlock purred. John just snickered.

Once he came out behind the changing screen Sherlock was already packed up, keys in hand. John smiled, picturing going back to Sherlock’s place and this time really letting him let go, picturing all those beautiful sounds he made when he kissed his neck and held him tight.

“So..” he started “Where to?”

Sherlock licked his rosy lips “Well... it's getting rather late.”

“Yess” John drawled, coming closer, a seductive smirk pulling at his lips

“So I was thinking…”

“Yeah?” John took hold of the taller man’s thing hips, thumbs rubbing circles on the dipping V of his muscles, leaning in and feeling the artists delicate puffs of breath on his cheeks.

“I could give you a full school tour in the dark!” Sherlock grinned, pulling up the keys in front of John.

After a few confused second the blonde let out a loud happy laugh “Right. Of course, that’s where you were going with that” he beamed up at the taller man, looking as if he’d never seen anything so wonderful in all his life.

“Of course, it is. What might you have been thinking mm?” Sherlock rose a challenging brow, eyes shining with mischief.

“Nothing indecorous for sure” John laid a chaste kiss on Sherlock’s lips and pulled back to pick up his bag from the ground and tug the strap above his shoulder. “So how come you have keys from the rest of the school anyway?”

 Sherlock was already walking out of the room, opening the door for John and closing it once they were past it. “I nicked it from the headmaster. I know where she keeps them. She gave me a second-floor classroom this semester. Everyone knows the best view is on the fifth” he shrugged.

John rolled his eyes good-naturedly, “Right. You sure no one will be around this time of day?”

Sherlock looked down and met John’s gaze. “Trust me, if anyone had been in the building during what we… got up to” he swallowed thickly, face flaming red “they most certainly would’ve heard and barged in”. He said it with a calm, even voice but John could see the rosy colour tinging his cheeks and bit the inside of his to stop the dirty remarks he might have made and settled for a pleased if slightly naughty smile.

 The school corridors were darkening fast, it wasn’t quite sunset yet but it was approaching. The walked past all the second floor closed doors, some signaling ‘painting room’ other ‘ceramics room’ or ‘studio drawing room’. The walls were littered with posters of school events, contests, part time job opportunities and deadline reminders, all colorful visually striking posters with inviting letters and some of the luckiest student’s artwork.

The light radiating from the windows was deepening into orange by the time they reached the elevator, Sherlock pressed the button for the fifth floor. He was starting to look a little nervous as if John would suddenly leave or say he changed his mind. The blonde just slipped his fingers into Sherlock’s, interlacing them and squeezing his hand tightly, reassuringly. 

The elevator doors opened and John could _definitely_ see why Sherlock was bitter not to be on the fifth floor. They weren't faced with long empty corridors as he had expected. It was one single massive room.

Sherlock’s classroom was nice, it had a couple of windows and it was expansive, with clean off-white walls and wooden floors with spatters of paint that gave it an artsy charming vibe. But this room… this room was incredible. The entire sprawling ceiling was a circular glass dome that sunk upwards into the sky, and the second half of the room, the far end, was composed entirely of glass walls. And the view… the view was nothing short of absolutely spectacular. The city spread out into the distance, you could very faintly see the glimmer of the Thames and the minuscule shapes of the London eye and the big ben tower. “Oh my God… Sher-“

“You like it?” Sherlock’s whisper resounded into the massive room, it sounded small and afraid.

“Of course... This" he searched for words "This is incredible! I can’t imagine how it must feel to come to this classroom every single day”

 “I used to” Sherlock smiled

“Really? You taught here?” John’s eyebrows rose, suddenly having an image of modelling for Sherlock in this very room, imagining what it must feel like- the exposure of all the windows, the thrill of seeing the city before you every day at your most vulnerable. And Sherlock, circling the room slowly, lit up by the sunlight from every angle. 

“No, I’ve never taught in this classroom." he replied "I used to study in this university. I had my painting classes here” he smiled wistfully at the memory, looking around the room at the scattered easels and canvases on the almost pristine wooden floors and clearly reliving all his memories of this place.

“You studied here? That’s amazing! No wonder you're such a great artist. I bet you were an honour student”

The artist grinned, flushing deeply at the compliment “Something like that... But real life is much harder than school. And making my name as an artist... well. It’s taking its time.”

John nodded “I know what you mean. I thought life after school would be brilliant. Then when I realized I couldn’t pay for med school, army doctor just made sense to me. I never even thought about the real chance that I could get hurt.” He shrugged “guess everything happens for a reason, though.”

Sherlock smiled at him, realizing they were still holding hands and squeezing John’s lightly. “Come on” he whispered, pulling him along close to the far end of the room, the view getting larger and completely enveloping the both of them. “We’re going to miss it” he whispered. There was really no need to talk quietly, but this moment seemed so precious. So intimate, that the artist simply couldn’t help it. He could already picture his new painting. John immersed in the light of an approaching sunset, his eyes looking clearer than he’d ever seen them when the light hit them dead on and fused through the azure blue of his iris, tinging it with yellow lights and shifting the midnight colour into aqua. Magnificent.

The artist stopped in the middle of the room and sank down on the ground, sitting on the wooden panels and looking up at John, motioning him to do the same. the blonde complied, crossing his legs under himself and leaning down onto his arms stretched behind him. The sunset was finally upon them, its orange, red and yellow hues in stretching beams of light, blending together and draping over both of their figures, casting long lazy shadows into the space behind them.  The soft deep purples in the bottom of the sky slowly loomed over the city. John turned to look at Sherlock bathed in all these lights, looking awe-struck and wondering, and couldn’t help but raise his hand, tuck his fingers beneath the man's chin and tip him down, capturing those pink pillowy lips between his.

Sherlock gently pried John’s mouth open, the blonde’s lips feeling more and more familiar with every shared kiss. He sighed, feeling at peace whenever he was being kissed by John, the butterflies in his stomach making happy swoops and urging him to press himself even closer. He held on to John’s jaw, thumb slowly stroking the slight amount of scratchy stubble.

They kissed and kissed. Whether it was for minutes or hours they didn’t know, but by the time they pulled away gasping for breath night had enveloped the room around them. The city lights and the moon shone brightly, and slowly they both lied on their backs catching their breath, panting together.

“This room is incredible” John sighed, looking up at the dome above them. Stars were beginning to peak out from beneath the darkening night. He was sure he had never seen such a vast amount of stars in the city. But, of course, Sherlock would know the one place to see them.

“It is” Sherlock agreed, “I’m glad you like it. I’ve never been in this room at night with anyone before. Usually, I was by myself finishing up projects. I haven't been here in years.” 

John turned to look at him. Sherlock’s profile was a really stunning image, the straight nose and the clear almost transparent eyes in the beaming white light of the moon. “Thanks for bringing me” he replied, a sweet smile pulling at his lips.

The fell into comfortable silence, John joined their fingers, linking them together as they both looked up into the night sky.

“Tell me… tell me about Afghanistan John” Sherlock whispered, suddenly 

John blinked, surprised by the question. “Afghanistan? Why?”

 “What was it like? Being there, protecting your people, missing your family..”

“It was... not what I expected it to be. I pictured a few years to get my medical degree and to return back home. But…to be honest with you…” he looked back at the stars above them, remembering watching the same stars back in the hot desert. “I stayed because I felt needed. When I got shot I let my people down... So many men I could’ve saved. But I just wasn’t paying enough attention” he shook his head.

“You miss it” Sherlock stated, not missing a beat

“In a weird way yeah I _did_.” He looked back at Sherlock “I don’t anymore. But I did. Coming back here… having to work as a model because my hand shook too much to be a surgeon…after years and years of helping people, saving lives. I guess… I missed the thrill of the adrenaline” he scoffed “You must think I’m crazy” 

Sherlock shook his head “No, I think you’re brave. I don’t think I could do that. And I imagine you left people behind. Your parents, sibling… significant other?”

John shrugged “It sounds bad but... it wasn’t hard to leave. My parents died a couple of months before I enlisted and my older sister and I... we’ve had our differences in the past. She didn’t miss me I’m sure. Barely calls me even now.” John frowned but then shook himself, as if dismissing a thought “But what about you? Do you have siblings?”

“An older brother. He’s absolutely horrid”

John snorted “Why?”

“Keeps poking his massive nose in my business. Since my father left us he took it upon himself to be my “guardian”. He’s bloody awful at it too.”

John laughed “Well at least you know he cares.”

Sherlock hummed thoughtfully “We used to get along…. When we were kids. But I was so different from the other kids… I never had many friends. I guess he became concerned about my well being when the bullying started” Sherlock rolled his eyes “Never left me alone after that. Not as company, mind you. More of a watchful prison guard.” He narrowed his eyes. 

John shifted closer to Sherlock, he watched him with a serious expression for a couple of moments before he muttered, “Siblings really suck”. That got a surprised chuckle out of the artist.

“You're right. They really really do” he laughed. 

John joined him, tangling his fingers in the back of Sherlock’s neck and pulling him in to taste those lips again. They kissed blissfully, with no intention of carrying it any further, just basking in feeling each other's bodies pressed against their own and for once, in years and years of aching, no longer feeling alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More smut, fluff and getting to know each other better <3<3 Can you see the angsty part on the near horizon? *chuckles evilly* Don't worry it won't hurt too much... ish ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter <3! Hopefully, the new one will be ready in about a week-- i'm calculating Thursday

 

 

“Sherlock” A quiet voice whispered.

 “Mmmphh”

 “Sheeerlock” The gentle tenor voice was slightly louder now, singsong and teasing.

“Mmmmno,” the other man mumbled. His voice was muffled against what he was pretty certain was the very center of a warm naked chest. Wisps of air he processed as quiet laughter blew against his hair, lightly ruffling its wild strands.

“Come on, wake up. We need to get up or we’ll be late” the voice said. Contradictorily, however, the strong arms that were surrounding his waist tightened, as if repelling the idea of letting him go to get up and out into the chilly air outside the warm bed and blankets.

“NghIdontwanna” Sherlock slurred out, shifting closer into the other man’s chest and hugging him tightly.  

This time, John’s happy laugh was louder, shaking his chest and Sherlock by proxy. “Maybe I can convince you,” he said, his voice dropping.

That got Sherlock’s attention, fast. “Yeah? How?”, he pushed his body tightly against John’s already feeling the beginnings of his morning erection against the bare skin of his hip.

“I’m sure-“ he slid his hands down Sherlock’s long back under the covers, teasingly, “I can find something” he nibbled at the artist’s earlobe and kept his hands moving down covering the gorgeous round globes of his arse and squeezing him, “-for us to do”.

Sherlock raised his head and met John’s gaze with a naughty smirk “Oh yeah?” he licked his lips, slowly sliding higher onto John’s body and watching his eyes flicker down to his lips.

“Sure thing” John bit Sherlock’s lower lip and pulled it gently, caressing the sting with his tongue and raised himself up to those gorgeous pink lips.

…

Luckily for them they made it to the class just in time, barely a couple of minutes before the bell rang. Unluckily for them, the whole class was very used to their professor being extremely early and so, the entire class was already there, waiting. Them both walking in together was most certainly not a way to keep things discrete. And John having his hand on the small of Sherlock’s back perhaps just a hair just too low to be considered platonic. 

John dropped his hand as soon as they walked in, laughing about something Sherlock had said about that morning when Mrs. Hudson had barged into Sherlock’s room. She had been carrying the artist’s morning tea and biscuits while they’d been snogging feverishly under the sheets with clear intention for some kind of variation of slow morning sex. She’d squeaked in surprise at the sight of them, dropping the whole tray as Sherlock yelped in indignation and made sure they were both fully covered. John had just kind of lied there, frozen in shock, lips still pursed as if they were still kissing Sherlock and staring at Mrs. Hudson in alarm. After what John was certain had been the most awkward introduction of history _ever_ , she had left them to get dressed and waited for them in Sherlock’s kitchen with a newly made batch of tea and biscuits (now for the both of them). She had proceeded to swoon over how perfect John was for her Sherlock and how wonderful it was that they’d met, pinching the artist’s cheeks and ignoring his murderous glares. John had instantly grown incredibly fond of her.

Now, as they walked into the classroom and John lost his hold on Sherlock it felt as if reality crashed back into them. Sherlock asked the students to display their last class drawings on the wall, and told John that the modeling would start an hour later than usual whilst he and the students observed the progress of the class as a whole.

 They all sat in a circle around the few drawing they had posted on the largest wall in the room, all sketches of John and a few of Irene in poses from all angles, some quite good and accurate drawings, others not so much. This was one of the professor’s favorite lessons of the semester as he got to evaluate them and observe their growth. And the students got some confidence as everyone else critiqued their work, which was usually a very reinforcing and confidence building process as the student’s tended to be nice to each other, especially in a class as demanding as Sherlock’s.

“See, observe here” Sherlock was saying “John’s biceps are obviously larger than how you drew them here Paul!”

He jumped to another drawing, “I can barely read military career in these thighs, Mike!”

“Excellent observation of the distance between the shoulder blades Janine” he turned his head to another. “Mary, as much as John wished this were true, his abdominal muscles are clearly not as defined and perfectly squared as you drew them here. He has a bit of a pudge down here." 

“Hey!” John cried

“I’m just observing, John”

John laughed “You love it” he teased, obviously joking, but Sherlock’s cheeks instantly darkened several shades and he cleared his throat, not expecting the teasing remarks John usually made to be said in front of his students. They probably knew anyway, right? Sherlock _knew_ that they hadn’t been exactly subtle. But maybe there were still some doubts… and Sherlock was most certainly _not_ going to confirm them for them just now. He shared a tiny private smile with John but promptly went back to talking about the drawings on the wall, entirely missing how most of his class had stopped paying attention and were staring at each other with surprised and proud smiles towards their professor and their model. 

….

 

That very morning (after the whole Mrs. Hudson fiasco) Sherlock had gotten a text from Lestrade about a new case for him and John. Sherlock had been secretly pleased that Lestrade had specifically requested the both of them in the text, as if knowing and sensing that wherever Sherlock went, John would go with him. He had given them an address but had specified that there was no need for them to arrive until that afternoon as right now they were taking the first samples and round of interrogations so Sherlock wouldn’t have to do it for them.

Feeling pleasantly surprised, Sherlock had informed John of the case and so, after the lesson they had both headed down to the crime scene together. Lestrade was waiting for them in front of the yellow police tape, instantly launching into a long explanation of the murder scene and their theories so far. A woman had been found dead in her bathtub, no signs of any sort of known drug in her system and no signs of forced entry. She was just… dead. She had lived with her slightly younger brother who had found her when he arrived home, the neighbors had nothing suspicious to say about her or anyone she knew, as far as they were concerned she was a private and quiet person who took care of her brother.

Sherlock walked into the room, instantly floundering deductions off of her, insulting everything everyone in the room had thought about the case and the things they’d obviously moved around the room and demanding to see the blood sample results.

 “We’re pretty sure it was the brother. She supported him financially. After her death, the insurance would have paid him a very handsome sum of money. We have him in the interrogation room” Dimmock announced proudly.

Sherlock didn’t even pretend to listen, he just shook his head in dismissal of whatever it was he said and kept on peering at the blood results closely, turning to observe the woman again and her background information. Without a word he turned and rushed off.

“To the lab!” he called out to John, who closely tailed him with a slightly confused but very intrigued grin.

The next couple of hours were spent at a lab at St. Bart’s. John helped Sherlock with anything he could, but mostly just sat there and stared at the other man’s exquisite face as he was deeply concentrated in the blood samples and whatever else he was researching on his laptop (John _did_ try to ask but got a one-word response he wasn’t quite sure had been answering him or had just been some sort of thought in Sherlock’s head he had voiced to have something to respond). All in all, John found it all surprisingly adorable. He brought Sherlock some tea and a sandwich from the cafeteria, knowing very well the artist had not eaten since breakfast, and even then he’d only eaten one of Mrs. Hudson’s biscuits before he yanked John away form the kitchen and into a cab to go to the University.

“Finally!” Sherlock suddenly exclaimed, leaping surprisingly fast from his seat and almost toppling it over in the process.

John jumped, startled from his very vivid daydream of the kinds of things they would possibly be doing later that night or tomorrow morning, provided they weren’t interrupted again. “What is it? Did you find something?” he asked, removing his resting head from his hand, which left a warm pink imprint on his cheek from the long time he had spent in the same position. It _had_ been a very good daydream after all.

“I solved it, John. It was a drug. Very specific, an almost untraceable kind of drug. It wasn’t the brother, either. It was their father, come on!” he phoned Lestrade and soon enough they were all outside of Bart’s, Sherlock rapidly explaining his deductions and reasoning, demanding they release the poor brother and arrest the father instead.

Most of the yard was busy screaming at Sherlock and each other so John, not exactly knowing how to play it was sort of lingering in the sidelines.

Sherlock was currently having a shouting match with Dimmock, showing him the results he’d gotten from the blood samples and slowly making him realize he was, of course, completely incorrect in almost all the information they had gathered before the artist had shown up. Annoyingly, Dimmock was being extra-thickheaded today and so was trying his best to find any tiny loopholes in Sherlock’s iron thick deductions. The artist rolled his eyes and tuned him out, scanning the crowd for John.

He finally spotted the blonde far within the crowd of police officers. His golden hair shining with the sun. Sherlock peered around the officer’s head’s, trying to get a better look at him. He was talking to an officer; the artist couldn’t be bothered to remember her name. He was standing rather close to her; as if leaning into her space to be able to hear what she was saying due to the noise around them. The artist frowned, his stomach twitching uncomfortably at how close her lips were to John’s ear. She certainly seemed... eager?

To his horror, whatever she said caused John to laugh happily, head thrown back and eyes closed in mirth. She giggled with him, her hand nervously flying onto her hair and twirling it around her finger. _Oh God no._ Sherlock frowned even further, eyes narrowing and a deep growl rising in his throat. Jealousy.

John seemed oblivious to the woman’s interest, or at least Sherlock hoped so. He was still talking rapidly, gesturing about something around himself and then pressing his hands to his chest as if talking about something emotional. She nodded, smile still perfectly intact and responded with equal enthusiasm, throwing in a wink in his direction and then reaching her hand out as if preparing to receive something. Sherlock’s heart was thumping rapidly in his chest, this time so forcefully and so uncomfortably… different to the nerves John usually sparked inside his body. His eyebrows rose slowly in alarm as the blonde handed her his cellphone. She took it with a smile and began typing something onto it, John peered onto the screen to observe.

She… she gave him her number? Why would she do that?

 

John.

Oh my God.

John had asked her out. John had asked her for her number.

 

Sherlock’s eyes widened in shock at the realization. Dimmock kept prattling on but now the artist was entirely and completely separated from his consciousness. He could feel dread sinking low into his stomach, his heart pulsing painfully against his ribs, the back of his eyes stinging with sudden unexpected tears.

John. His John.

 He _knew_ they should have talked about it. They should have clarified what they were doing. He knew that the model would’ve probably not wanted an exclusive relationship with him but… did he not want it so badly that he would pursue someone else right in front of him? Then again, Sherlock had not really expressed sentiment towards him. And it was something the blonde probably didn’t expect or desire from him.

 They were… just shagging. Nothing more.

There was no room for… _feelings. Feelings_ the artist couldn’t help when they rose and clogged his throat closed as his breaths became shallower and he blinked rapidly, watching John thank this woman with a wide grin. She beamed back at him, clearly pleased with herself.

 John smiled brightly at her and said goodbye, seeming to thank her once more for whatever she’d typed on his phone. He then turned around and starting looking for something in his surroundings. He met Sherlock’s eyes. And even now... the artist couldn’t help it when his heart skipped a beat when John smiled at him. He couldn’t help the need to be enclosed in his arms when the blonde took a look at him and frowned in what looked like concern and started walking his way.

“Hey” he smiled hesitantly “You alright?”, he glanced at Dimmock, who was just now realizing that Sherlock had not heard a single word he had said and was huffing in frustration and turning around to leave with a loud “Whatever, freak!”.

John glared at the man’s retreating figure, clearly thinking he was the sole cause for the distress in Sherlock’s eyes. He placed his hand on the small of the artist’s back, gently guiding him out of the crowd. Sherlock’s mouth wouldn’t move, but his eyes followed John, committing him to memory before he eventually confessed to Sherlock he had found someone else and could no longer see him.

They reached the edge of the police tape, the shorter man rose it as high as he could and guided the artist under it, afterwards ducking down himself.

Lestrade was calling after them but John didn’t stop, he sensed Sherlock didn’t want to be there one more second.

As soon as they reached an alleyway the blonde turned the corner of the building and pulled Sherlock into a tight hug, much to the artist’s bewilderment. He had been expecting some sort of awkward goodbye. Some dry words and maybe an awkward embrace. But then again maybe this was it. Maybe John knew how hard he was falling for him and just wanted to apologize before tearing his heart out. Well... better he did it now. Better he did it fast. Better now that he hadn’t gone out with that woman. Of course, John wouldn’t cheat in a relationship... but would it even be considered cheating on Sherlock? They were not together. They would never be.

John pulled back from the embrace, taking hold of Sherlock’s face between both of his hands. _Here it comes,_ thought Sherlock

John just looked into his eyes for a few moments, “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft “Did Dimmock say something to you?” He paused. Sherlock opened his mouth but nothing came out. 

 “Sherlock?” John looked anxious now. He caressed his cheekbone gently with the pads of his thumbs, seemingly trying to soothe him but Sherlock only looked more distressed.

“It’s…. it’s nothing” the artist choked out. If John wasn’t going to break his heart now it was better to pretend. To keep him for himself if only for a little while longer. After all, he didn’t have any more classes with the model after today’s lesson and John would most likely request not to be booked again. If this was his last night with him... well then. He guessed he would have to make the best of it. To capture every second, every moment and commit it to memory.

John didn’t look convinced at his dismissal. His eyebrows scrunched together in worry and the artist leaned forward and kissed his brow gently. His eyes still stung from unshed tears. The memory of that woman flirting with John was painstakingly vivid in his mind. Her fingers curling around her long red hair and the model’s laughter directed solely at her. The artist’s lower lip gave a tiny sad wobble he hoped the blonde couldn’t perceive in the darkening light. The memory of the sunset they’d watched together stabbed at Sherlock’s insides, and he wished with all his heart that he was still there.

“Oh, Sherlock… please tell me what’s wrong”, John rose on his tiptoes and laid tiny kisses on Sherlock’s cheeks and closed eyelids, ending with a very chaste brush of lips on lips. Sherlock let out a broken sigh.

 “I’m fine,” he said. “Let’s… can- can we go?”

John bit his lip, seeming nervous “We’re uh… pretty far from your place” he started, his hands dropping from the artist’s face. The artist instantly felt the cold air against them.

 _Oh no. So this was it then_. Sherlock breathed in a harsh breath, prepared to tell John it was fine. That he understood.

“Maybe…” The blonde continued “Maybe we could go to my place?”

 _What?_  

“It’s not… quite as nice as yours.” John shrugged, laughing nervously in clear self-consciousness. “But... it’s warm. And it’s close. And well... it’s home” he met the artist's eyes with a tiny nervous smile. 

“Oh… yeah. Of course, we can go there, John”. Sherlock breathed. His relief lasting only a few moments before he wondered when the blonde would tell him about the woman, and then another stab of hurt thundered through him.  

John beamed at him, his eyes still worried but trying not to pry. He took hold of Sherlock’s cold hand and laced their fingers together, pulling him back onto the street gently to call a cab to his home.

….

 

Hours later Sherlock was staring at the ceiling. John’s place, as promised, was not very large. But it was charming and it was _John’s_. They had walked in and the model had made them tea and they had sat on his minuscule couch and watched some crap telly as John coursed his lithe fingers through Sherlock’s curls in an attempt to soothe and make him feel better. John could obviously tell that Sherlock was very deeply upset. But he had not asked again. His eyes never left him, though. The artist wondered if the guilt of asking another woman out was eating at him. He wondered if he was postponing telling the artist until the moment they separated and wouldn’t have to do it in person. Smart John. Keeping his emotions safe. Not letting himself be influenced by other’s.

The anxiety of not seeing John again had made Sherlock cling to him tightly, desperately. He silently begged John not to leave. Not to see her again. To stay with him always. But he didn’t voice anything, knowing exactly what John’s response would be, and scared to see the disappointment in his eyes and to hear the heartbreaking words leave those rosy lips.

Sherlock had kissed John, as soon as both their eyes were closed he let some of the tears roll down his cheeks. Thankfully, John’s arms had remained around his waist and hair and he never felt the wetness of Sherlock’s eyes. And he had perhaps confused his quiet sobs as panting breaths.

They never took it further, John soothingly stripping Sherlock of his shirt but nothing more. He had assured Sherlock that they didn’t have to do anything if he didn’t feel like it. The artist had tried to deny it, tried to kiss him harder to make him see that he could. That he’d do anything for John. That he wanted him. He would always want him. But the blonde had only slowed their kisses and held him tight. He’d guided him onto the bed and covered them both, whispering soothing words in Sherlock’s ear until they both fell asleep, tangled together.

At dawn when the artist woke, he was swathed in the blonde’s strong and warm arms, his soft sleepy breaths blew warmly against his nape and their legs were tangled tightly together. Against his back, he could feel John’s chest pressed against him. Only then did he fully let the tears flow, let the soft sobs shake free from his chest. He considered leaving John’s flat, now that the man was asleep, to avoid the awkward moments that were definitely to come. But he couldn’t bring himself to.

Mycroft had once warned him not to let sentiment get the best of him. And now here he was, lying in the arms of the man that did not feel the same for him, that would soon be holding another person close at night. Now here he was... lying enclosed and pressed against the chest of the gorgeous man he had somehow, against all odds, fallen completely in love with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the bad news is the angst is here..I'm sorryyyy.. my poor Sherlock.
> 
> The GOOD news is: it won't last very long <3<3 AND I added a chapter to my plan- it's pretty much fluff and smut so. I hope that makes up for it .
> 
> Thank you so much for leaving kudos and commenting <3<3<3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter<3<3<3 I hope to have the next one ready for tuesday

 

The morning after he’d slept over at John’s place, Sherlock had tried his best to act normal for him. John had not mentioned the woman at all. Instead, he’d dedicated his morning to taking care of Sherlock, kissing him and caressing him until Sherlock was writhing against his sheets, all thoughts of pain momentarily forgotten within the red heat of John’s wet mouth around him.

Sherlock had realized that maybe… maybe this was a game he could win. Maybe he could get John to fall in love with him. It certainly seemed like a possibility when the blonde was caressing the inside of his thighs with gentle fingers, and murmuring out encouragements as Sherlock came with a whimper onto his tongue. He pictured what it would be like for John to love him. It seemed... pretty close to what he had now. Except John would tell him he was the only one. Sherlock would _know_ he was the only one. And what could be better than that? He resigned to keep himself collected for now. Too ‘woo’ John, per say... into being his.

Back in his house, he had tried as best as he could not to made any more paintings of him, not that it had worked. He spent most of the weekend begrudgingly painting and brooding in between debating whether he should text him or not. But images of the blonde and the woman haunted him. He knew that the odds were that he was… with her. He tried not to think about that. He had expected not to hear from him all weekend long, suspecting he would like to spend the entire weekend by her side. But then today… John texted.

_Hey! Are we on for classes this week? ;) -J_

 

Sherlock stared down at his phone. He wasn’t sure what John’s signals meant at all. He wanted this woman… but he wanted Sherlock too? Maybe Sherlock could share... if it meant keeping him. But the thought of the blonde touching someone else, calling someone else ‘gorgeous’ or ‘love’ as he sometimes did him in the heat of the moment... it physically burnt to even consider. But what choice did he have? After all, moping around was not going to help him in any way. If there was even the slightest chance that he could convince John to stay, he was going to try.

 The artist bit his lip, cautious but needing to see John and texted back

 

_Of course. I’ll book you right now –SH_

 He steeled himself. Into battle, then.

…

  

The moment John walked into the classroom Sherlock grinned up at him as brightly as he could manage, knowing John liked it when he smiled and forcing himself not to think about what the man had been up to that weekend. The blonde beamed back, seeming pleased at the fact that Sherlock was happy to see him. He looked well rested, the artist noted, so no late nights in the past few days. He looked over his figure as it walked over to the changing screen but could not deduce anything out of the ordinary. The urge to go kiss him was almost impossible to resist.

Sherlock hadn’t bothered telling his class that they would be getting John as a model again, and in return, they didn’t bother to pretend they were surprised when the model walked into the room.

As soon as John climbed onto the platform and the robe came off Sherlock began moving him around gently for the morning poses and to find the perfect lighting. He inspected John’s body as inconspicuously as he could, trying to see if he could notice any unfamiliar love bites or faint marks of passionate scratches on his skin, but those he found he had vivid memories of leaving there himself. Good. That lifted up his spirits considerably, knowing that at least this woman had still not laid a hand on his John. 

The class wore on sluggishly, in the break John had gotten a phone call. Sherlock tried not to think too hard about that. The good news was the blonde seemed quite annoyed as he had walked out of the room to answer, maybe even surprised that whoever was calling was doing so. Maybe he had gone out with the woman but they hadn’t had a good time. Maybe he would not see her again! Sherlock tried to suppress his tiny smug smile.

When the blonde came back from the call he seemed irritated, maybe even a little sad. The artist debated whether to ask or not, not wanting to shatter the illusion that John was not seeing anyone else but not wanting to seem like he did not care for him. The decision was made for him when the model put his phone away and walked back onto the platform without a word, a deep frown on his face. Something was wrong. Sherlock didn’t like not knowing. Even if the truth would break his heart it couldn’t be worse that not knowing what was happening, and if something about it was causing John grief then he didn’t know what else to do.

Heart in his throat Sherlock continued with the class, already having ideas on how to bring John back to his place afterward and maybe sitting down to talk. He wasn’t too keen on it but it was important.

The class ended, and as the students were leaving John walked up to Sherlock with a smile. “Hey, you” he murmured.

Sherlock returned the smile, conscious of the students still in the room with them but not wanting to alienate John. The blonde wrapped an arm around his waist, seeming unbothered by the fact that the door wasn’t closed and Mike, Molly, and Janine were still in the process of packing up. It wasn’t like he was being invasively or inappropriately close to the artist, but it was still something that couldn’t quite pass off as platonic. Sherlock avoided his student’s eyes as they walked out, but he could still feel their gazes on them. Mike, thank god for that boy, closed the door and left them alone together.

John sighed, obviously still thinking about the phone call he had just received.

“Everything… good?” the artist wasn’t quite sure what to say.

 “Yeah... much better now. Now that we can do this” he rose on his tiptoes and laid a kiss on the artist’s lips. Sherlock responded instantly, arms wrapping possessively around John’s neck and tilting his head for better access. This had to be a good sign. The blonde clearly needed comfort from him so the cause of his sadness was most likely not connected to them. They still needed to talk. Sherlock needed to know. He wanted to keep seeing John no matter if he was the only one or not, but he couldn’t keep the pretense of not knowing the model was seeing or wanted to see other people too.

John pressed him back onto his desk, the artist intuitively raised himself and sat on the table so the blonde could press himself closer to him and their heights evened out. John’s hands roamed over his back and his tongue curled around his. Sherlock let out an involuntary moan, convincing himself that any second now he would pull away and they would talk. Any second now.

But first he needed to feel John’s chest under his fingertips, he needed to bite his bottom lip and hear the low breathy moan that escaped the blonde’s lips, he needed John to hold him tightly and to bask in the soft sounds that their kissing resounded in when they reverberated in the empty room around them, he-

A loud thump against the closed door of the classroom boomed out.

The loud sound made John jump backward and away as Sherlock pulled back with a surprised gasp, his head snapping towards the door in alarm and he yanked his arms back from where they’d been curled around the model’s neck, fingers in his golden hair.

John looked back to him, expression panicked and his gaze flickered to the door and back to the artist, clearly not knowing what to do. 

Sherlock bit his lip and heart pounding lowered himself onto the ground walked cautiously to the door, after a steady breath opening it in one strong swing.

Most of his student body, haven been resting their weight onto the solid door, stumbled forwards.  They looked up in alarm at their professor, all of them red in the face and mouths gaping.

“Uh.. umm” Mary stumbled out

“We were just... we weren’t…”

Countless of “It’s not what it looks like” and “We can explain” resounded from all of them, until a horrified Sherlock raised his hand for silence and asked directly “What’s going on?”

“We were just…I mean. We were wondering if you guys... I mean obviously y-you... uh” Mike stuttered. 

“If it helps” Molly started, smiling hesitantly “We are all very happy for you both” she grinned giddily, the rest of the students all nodding vigorously and some of them hooting in congratulatory whoops.

“You guys are so cute together!” Janine squealed much to the artist’s mortification.

“OhmyGodjustgo” Sherlock rushed out, already feeling his face flaming in embarrassment at being caught out making out with the model by most of his students. Said model was giggling in the background, covering his face in equal embarrassment.

“Yes sir,” they all said, some still grinning, others having the decency to look at the very least slightly guilty. They all rushed out, already whispering excitedly amongst each other, Molly looked back and smiled at him widely.

Sighing Sherlock closed the door again, his head falling forwards with a light thump onto the cold wood of the door, reaching down to lock it, just in case.

He turned back and walked towards John who was still giggling softly, cheeks red and clearly embarrassed but otherwise seeming unbothered. “Oh god. Come on, you. Where were we?” he reached forward and started kissing lightly at Sherlock’s neck, hands firmly placed on the professor’s narrow hips and thumbs rubbing soothing circles.

Sherlock closed his eyes, he knew he had to ask now. He knew he had to. It was one thing for him to incorrectly presume they were together; it was another thing for other people to make the same mistake in front of John. Sooner or later John would have to correct them. Sherlock kept his arms to himself, selfishly enjoying these last few seconds before John noticed he wasn’t responding. His breath hitched slightly as the blonde licked over his pulse point but he resisted the low groan he would’ve let out. 

“Sherlock?” _Here we go.._ “Is.. everything okay?" 

 _Oh God.. I can't do it. I can’t._ “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” He backtracked, shaking his head.

John frowned “Seriously… what is it? Please tell me... you’ve been..” he searched for the right word “ quiet since the case, love” he let go of the artist’s hips, the latter missing the warmth almost instantaneously, but something hot and ugly burning from John’s words.

“I’m perfectly fine” he snapped, pulling away from the model. If there was one thing he couldn’t handle was John calling him ‘love’ when he was obviously not so. When they were having sex he could handle it, knowing John was obviously just experiencing attachment due to the physical connection and the release of hormones but _without_ that connection, and with knowing he was not really John’s ‘love’, it was too much. He would not take it.

“Okay, okay” John raised his hands as if in surrender, looking hurt. “Is it… is it the student’s knowing?” he asked softly “Telling the headmaster or something? I’m sure they wouldn’t but Sherlock, I’ll do anything for you not to lose your job over me. I couldn’t do that to you” his face scrunched up in worry, clearly not wanting to overstep but needing to know what was wrong and how he could make it right.

_What? John thought he was concerned over his job?_

“Look…” John continued “would you like to talk about this in a… less student-populated place? I uh… I made us reservations for dinner in this restaurant a police officer recommended.” He bit his lip nervously. “What was her name...Sarah? I asked her for restaurant recommendations and she pointed this one out I thought you and I could… check it out?” with every word the model looked more and more concerned, unsure. As if really doubting Sherlock would agree to come with him.

The cogs in Sherlock’s brained whirred to an absolute stop, John’s words unable to process with his own thoughts, the puzzle pieces not matching, some being discarded, others brought to light. John made reservations? Sarah… that name did sound familiar… Sarah was the police officer! The name and the face finally clicked in the artist’s brain. He recalled speaking to her before in some cases, one of them Angelo’s case. He’d forgotten about that. But what did this mean? What was John saying?

  “Wait…” Sherlock’s eyes widened, trying to understand “Sarah didn’t give you her phone number?” he rushed out, not really meaning to say that but his mouth taking over Sherlock’s still frozen mind. Oh God no.

John looked absolutely dumbstruck as if the possibility that Sherlock could have thought that had never even crossed his mind “What?” his eyebrows rose. He opened his mouth a couple of times before he rushed out “No! She only gave me restaurant recommendations. Mentioned you are quite fond of Italian- and she… pointed one out for us” his voice softened with every word, trying desperately to understand what was going on in the professors reeling mind.

 _So Sarah hadn’t been hitting on John?_ “But… but she was typing her number on your phone! She was hitting on you” His voice was small and soft, trying to make John understand.

The utter confusion in John’s face faded into surprised realization before melting into pained understanding. “Oh...” he gasped “Oh.. Sherlock.”

The artist expected him to accept the accusation, or if he was lucky some angry denials but what he wasn’t expecting was for John to reach out and in one swift move pull Sherlock’s body against his, arms wrapped around his waist into a tight hug. “Sherlock” John whispered, pressing his lips very lightly to the side of Sherlock’s neck. “I couldn’t possibly be interested in anyone other than you… I thought you knew that. I thought...” he pressed Sherlock even tighter against himself, sounding pained and saddened by the thought of Sherlock thinking he would ever pursue someone else when he finally had this amazing gorgeous man.

“I-“ Sherlock breathed “I didn’t… want to assume. I thought perhaps I could convince you to stay with me but after they saw us and assumed we were together.. it was too much”

“oh, love…” John pulled back, meeting Sherlock’s icy blue eyes, shining with relief but still sheathed a shade of doubt. John kissed him, raising a hand to cup Sherlock’s cheek and smoothing his thumb over the cheekbone. He poured his feelings into the kiss, the things he should’ve said days ago, and the things it was still too soon to voice but still felt deep in his heart.

 He felt Sherlock clutch at the front of his modesty robe, pulling him in desperately and gasping into the kiss. They kept the kiss heated but chaste, needing to just feel each other, be with each other in that moment. 

The knot that for days had twisted Sherlock’s stomach in nerves and the ugly tinge of jealousy let go and in its place he felt the warmth of knowing John was here, he was not going anywhere with anyone else. Slowly, the artist slid his hand down, tugging lightly at the bands tying the model's robe together but John pulled his hand away gently. “Not here love, I'd like to take you to dinner. A proper date, if you will.” He smiled, sweetly, “After all, I already made the reservations.”

Sherlock couldn’t help the happy breathy giggle that rose from his lips, a happy bubble of warmth bursting in his stomach as John kissed the tip of his nose. Sherlock closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. 

…

 

Sherlock hated to admit this. He seriously did. But he had to admit Sarah had a remarkable taste in Italian restaurants. The name of the place was “The Landmark London” and the artist felt chills from the moment they walked in.

John insisted on holding his hand all the way as they walked to the restaurant, and didn’t let go even when the waitress took in their names for the reservation and showed them the way to their table. The artist quite liked how her gaze lingered on their joined hands and she looked up to smile at them sweetly. Sherlock couldn’t help but smile back.

They were led to a round table on the edge of the balcony on the second floor that overlooked the bottom level, decorated with a velvet red candle and a tasteful bouquet of lilies. All around them were small groups of friends and couples enjoying each other’s company. The floors were red and black checkered squares and above them, a golden chandelier hung high into the sunken beige ceiling. The shape brought the artist’s mind back to the dome on the fifth floor and his heart warmed. 

“What is it, gorgeous?” John reached out for his hand, his gaze tender and affectionate.

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking” Sherlock smiled back.  

John stroked his thumb across the artist’s palm, prompting a small shiver from the latter. He felt his eyes flutter in pleasure and he hummed happily.

“I’m sorry I’ve caused you pain these last few days.” John sighed, gripping the artist’s hand tightly “I should’ve explained why Sarah had taken my phone. I should’ve known. I could see you were upset, but I didn’t want to pry and I-”

Sherlock shook his head “It’s fine, John. I should’ve trusted you. I suppose I’m still getting used to-” he paused and motioned with his free hand between the both of them “This. I- I’ve never done anything of this sort before. My brother always said sentiment was a weakness. A human error”.  

John licked his lips, his brow slightly upturned “Sherlock… you are the most human… human being I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. 'Sentiment' is not an error or a weakness, it’s a gift. A strength. A pleasure. And I for one,” he smiled down at their joined hands “Adore having sentiment for you”.

Sherlock let out a trembling breath “I-I do too. I mean, I… me too”.

The blonde grinned up at him, eyes twinkling. “Well then. Let’s enjoy each other’s company. I hear the lasagna here is to die for”.

“That sounds great” the artist smiled. There was something, though, something he kept wondering in the back of his mind. He figured if this… growing thing between John was to keep going then he might as well try his hand at ‘communication’. It’s what successful couples did best no? Well, it _was_ according to the several websites he had done his research on.

 “John,” He started, “When you spoke with Sarah... what exactly did you say?”

John looked a little wary for a moment, clearly wanting the conversation about their misunderstanding to be in the past but not wanting to hurt Sherlock again.

“Well, she approached me when you were speaking with Dimmock” he started, encouraged by Sherlock’s nod to continue, “I admit it did seem as if she was trying to hit on me at first, asking how I knew you and why she’d never seen me around before, that sort of thing” He shrugged, Sherlock’s eyes narrowed slightly, glad he knew she definitely had been interested but feeling the sudden urge to cover John’s body with his possessively.

John continued, “I told her about how we met and that we uh- that we are… well.” Sherlock leaned forward, clinging to John’s every word, “She caught on and stopped the flirting, definitely didn’t seem jealous or anything. I told her I wanted to take you out but that I didn’t know many restaurants around the area and she mentioned the case with Angelo. She said that you had mentioned you liked Italian food” he smiled “and offered to show me some places. So I passed her my phone and she showed we this place, and… voila!”. John covered their linked hand with his free one, effectively enshrouding Sherlock’s hand in solid, comforting warmth.

The artist nodded, feeling relieved at finally hearing the full story and a little self-reproaching at how rapidly he had reacted. He supposed it was normal, for an emotion as strong as he felt for John to have accompanying consequences, such as jealousy. He wondered if John would ever or had ever felt jealous over him. He had to admit the idea was not unappealing.

“All okay?” John prompted, a small nervous smile pulling at his lips.

“All okay” he confirmed, squeezing John’s hand and covering John’s top one in his. He wondered how the must look, all hands in a soothing intimate mound between both of their bodies, beaming at each other from across the small round table and leaning as close as they could. They probably blended in with all the couples around them, the artist thought. They probably looked as if they did this sort of thing every night. Easy smiles and shared space, comforting touches and warm gazes.

“What can I get you boys?” the booming voice of the waiter resounded between them, bursting their tiny shared moment.

 Sherlock tore away from the model’s gaze and looked up at him, without letting go of John’s hands. The waiter looked a little embarrassed at haven clearly interrupted, but Sherlock was pleased to see he wasn’t fazed by the clear tenderness in the intimate moment between himself and John. “We’ll both have the lasagna, please”, he said “And your best bottle of wine”, he added with a smirk.

Two hours later, most of the guests had left the restaurant but they lingered over a shared plate of Tiramisu and the last sips of their bottle of wine. The artist could’ve sworn the lights in the restaurant had been dimmed, and John in candlelight was absolutely stunning. He wondered how he would paint his eyes in this moment, azure, aqua, midnight, a smidge of brandeis, and in the very center glowing eton. The yellow flame reflected in the center of his dilated pupils flickered as he observed him whilst he spoke. His lips would be traced by a touch of lilac at the seam, rosy pink tinged with blood red in the spots where John licked most recently, a touch ruby blending into his tanned warm beige above his lips.

All night they had talked, easy conversation flowing between them, the wine urging the need to lean closer and closer in search of each other’s touch. The artist’s deep laughter echoed in John’s chest and he felt less and less focused on the time or the place and more on the man. He hated that he had hurt him, however unintentionally, but was glad that there seemed to be a broken barrier between them now. They felt more relaxed to bring down their own walls.

“Should we get the check?” John murmured.

“Probably, our waiter can’t wait to go back home to watch pornography from his neighbor's wi-fi” Sherlock laughed.

John giggled “Right. We should get going then”, he turned and their waiter _was_ in fact, giving them the side eye.

The artist paused, biting his lip “Could you- I mean, would you like to come over?” he asked shyly.  “I mean, we don’t have to do anything but-“

“I’d love to come over”, John replied with a knowing smile, tracing his index finger over the top of Sherlock’s resting hand on the table suggestively.

Sherlock visibly swallowed hard “Right. Perfect. Good”, even with the dim lighting John could see his cheeks flaming. The man was a genius and a tremendously talented artist, and when he wanted to be, he could have a rather sharp and harsh tongue. But there was no denying that the man could be quite adorable.

John smiled and followed the path of Sherlock’s tongue across his lower lip, his pupils dilating, “Good”, he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaay no more angst......right? naah im kidding....  
> Hopefully, this wasn't too sappy-- i keep getting carried away. These two are WAY too into each other. Like, boys.. pls... you're in public...


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this took way longer than I said it would hahaa Im so sorry-- work has been a little overbearing, hopefully itll get better soon 
> 
> I will be taking out the spaces later on today-- but I just couldnt wait to post the chapter any longer <3<3

 

 

Sherlock thanked the gods that Mrs. Hudson was out of town visiting her sister, or else she might’ve had a heart attack with just the way in which Sherlock and John barged in through the door, mouths attached and hands roaming absolutely everywhere. Sherlock only pulled back long enough to yank the blonde up the stairs and get the door to his apartment open.

 

 They couldn’t even reach the second staircase towards the bedroom before Sherlock had John pinned to the wall mouthing desperately at his neck and his hand ripping out buttons.

John laughed as best as he could around his panting breaths, his head tipped up to give the artist better access to his pulse point and hands grabbing the man possessively around the hips.

 

“Shouldn’t we” he gasped out “get upstairs to your room?”

 

Sherlock made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat but made absolutely no effort to dislodge himself from the blonde, now sucking on the bites he’d left on his collarbones. John, in turn, decided he didn’t particularly care either and set out to help Sherlock with his shirt, the artist’s trembling fingers were not really doing much in the desperation. He threw the garment across the room and locked his mouth with the artist’s, tasting the wine they’d drunk and a slight taste of the tiramisu dessert they’d ‘shared’ on his tongue (if you could call Sherlock eating most of it on the first bite sharing).

 

“Off” John panted “Everything. Off”

The artist could only nod as he unbuttoned his shirt as fast as he could and fumbled with his belt and zipper. As soon as he’d toed off his shoes and socks though, John stopped him.

“You” he sighed “You are the most beautiful creature. I could watch you for hours.”

 

Sherlock attached his lips to the edge blonde’s jaw, hiding his scarlet blush. “Me too John… Even with all the hours I’ve drawn you, the hours you’ve modelled for me... it’s not enough. I need more.”

 

John sighed, nudging at Sherlock’s face with his own to capture his lips again, reliving every second of having Sherlock look at him as he modelled, the intimacy in the act, the trust of being at your most vulnerable for someone to see, to stare.

An idea then popped into his mind, “Could I try?” he whispered into Sherlock’s mouth in between heated kisses. “Could I try to draw you?”

 

Sherlock pulled back, surprised but intrigued “You’d… want to do that?”

John licked his lips and nodded, eyes hungrily trailing down Sherlock’s body, his thumbs slipping into the latter’s tight black boxer briefs and tugging teasingly.

 

“Yeah” he nodded, “It’s such an intimate experience... I’d like to share something like that with you. And I-” he pressed a light kiss to the artist’s parted lips, “Would love to stare at you for hours”.

 

Sherlock gulped visibly, his blush darkening several shades. He nodded, word getting stuck on the way out of his throat.

 

Moments later, after John had led him into the studio and had gently positioned Sherlock in the middle of the room, he had settled behind an easel, with a large sheet of off-white paper stuck onto a drawing board, as he was used to seeing students draw him on. He turned a small lamp from the desk on to light one side of Sherlock’s body, providing a lovely contrast with the paleness of his creamy skin and the darkness of the night shadows around them. Sherlock took a deep breath and pulled down his briefs, laying them a little bit away on the ground and facing the light.

 

Funny how for years Sherlock had turned on glaring lights onto his model’s bodies and had watched them glow under them but had never once pictured how they must feel. It was… oddly empowering. To be so blatantly vulnerable, the lights emphasizing and shedding light onto every inch of your body completely and willingly on display, trusting the person to see you entirely as you are.

 

And all of that that added to John’s lustful wanting gaze… Sherlock could not think of a place he would rather be in. He chose a simple pose, with his body angled slightly sideways for John’s perspective to be of his side and chest along with a small portion of his right arse cheek, he rose his right arm and bend it over his head to stretch the muscled along his ribs and give a clearer view of his neck he’d often caught John gawking at.

He let the other arm hang loose beside him in a casual pose as not to strain himself and have a natural pose for the blonde.

 

John stood partly behind and beside Sherlock’s canvas and started drawing.

 

For long moments the only sounds echoing through the large room were the scratches of the single piece of graphite and their breathing. Their gazes met often in the quiet, trusting.

 

 “This is harder than I thought it would be”, John spoke softly, “I just want to go there with you” his gaze trailed down Sherlock’s body greedily.

 

Sherlock let out a breathy laugh under his breath, the blonde observed the movement in the artist’s ribs with avid interest, Sherlock’s breath hitched. “Hurry up then,” he winked.

 

The blonde drew for another 20 minutes in silence, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. Sherlock steeled himself, trying as hard as he could to keep the pose intact. Being a model was no easy job either, a small part of him felt guilt for the times he’d grown irritated with fidgety models. Keeping the same pose for the last half hour was cramping up his arm painfully. He felt beads of sweat rolling down his long back and brow.

 

 “Oh god, drawing’s hard” John muttered suddenly. “How do you do this? It looks so much easier than it actually is”. He reached for the erased and began rubbing something off the page, much to the artist’s curiosity.

 

 “10 more minutes, John” he purred. “Then I’ll evaluate”.

 

“Oh shit” John hissed, seeming much more preoccupied on the drawing than Sherlock now, much to the artist’s amusement. Soon enough his tongue was poking out of his mouth as he frowned at his drawing in complete focus.

 

Once the time was up (Sherlock had counted the minutes in his head), he nodded at John and released the pose, much to the relief of his cramped arm muscles and back. He stretched for a moment, releasing the tension.

When he turned back to John he was staring at his drawing, eyeing it with a furrowed brow, “Wow, what did I do”.

 

Sherlock pulled his briefs back and on padded silently behind the easel beside the blonde curiously, and promptly chuckled, looking away momentarily. He turned back to the drawing. And once again snickered, raising his hand to try to muffle the sounds. “Oh my god, John” he laughed.

“Hey!” John cried, trying very hard to suppress his grin and look serious and failing miserably. “It’s not that bad!”

 

“What the on earth are these?” Sherlock couldn’t stop giggling as he pointed at several tiny dots and smudges John had smeared on the sliver of back you could see and a single squiggly dot on his hip.

“Those are your freckles!” John squawked, indignantly, as if it was obvious.

 

The drawing…Well. It was pretty dreadful. It held absolutely no resemblance to Sherlock at all. It looked like some sort of mutant swan creature layered in dots and smudges.

Sherlock laughed and laughed, tears started to trickle down his face and John could stop the giggles from rising up his throat and joining him.

 

“Oh John... hehe You have a way with- hahah- words and a way with- pffff-- modelling and much hahah- much more. But John.” he cradled the blonde’s face in between his hands as they grinned stupidly at each other “You can’t draw” he giggled, his nose scrunching up with the peals of joyous laughter.

 

John shook his head grinning and covered Sherlock’s hands with his own “Its abstract art” he assured him. “You just don’t understand my genius”, he grinned.

“Ah. I’m sure that’s it” Sherlock chuckled leaning down into John for a long kiss.

 

The laughed quietly into each other’s mouths, trying to kiss each other but gently clashing teeth with their grins or missing and kissing each other’s jaws or cheeks, but it didn’t matter. Soon enough their joyful silly laughter died down as their kisses grew more heated and sloppy with every touch of their roaming hands.

 

Sherlock divested John of the rest of his clothing (he was already shirtless so it didn’t take too long) and John pulled insistently at the artist’s briefs until those too slithered to the ground once more. They then both stumbled their way upstairs into the artist’s bedroom.

 

So far they’d kept their sexual activities to solely oral and manual, per say, but tonight felt different. For Sherlock, to finally have the confirmation that John was his, solely _his_ was so overwhelming, so grandiose that the necessity to be closer was palpable in the air. In the few weeks they’d been seeing each other Sherlock had guessed this might happen soon and was thus, prepared. He knew that John was clean, and he himself had never had any kind of sexual activity with anyone before John came along, but he’d bought condoms just in case John insisted, and a large bottle of lube.

 

He lowered himself onto the bed, pulling John on top of himself until they were pressed skin to skin, still immersed in their kisses. Sherlock moaned freely when John’s lips slowly roamed down to his neck and chest and finally attached themselves onto one of his peaked dusty pink nipples. He tangled his fingers in the golden strands of John’s hair and pulled teasingly, as John nibbled gently on the pebbled pink skin. “John” he breathed.

 

“Yes?” John teased, wetly kissing his way onto the other nipple and giving it the same treatment.

 

“Drawer. Please” Sherlock’s words were barely heard through his panting breaths, his hands clawing at John’s back to keep him close even when his words urged him to hurry for the supplies.

 

John reached as far as he could, trying his best not to move to far, not that he even could considering how tightly the artist was holding on to him. After a couple of failed attempts he finally got the drawer open and pulled out the lube and a condom wrapper. “Oh…Do you-“

 

“I’m clean” Sherlock assured him “And I know you are too... I just thought... but, If you’d rather..”

 

John silenced him with a kiss, dropping the condom back into the drawer with a desperate hum. He kissed down Sherlock’s long neck and chest, teasingly dipping his tongue momentarily into the hollow of his throat and later on as he progressed down, his bellybutton, as he knew Sherlock particularly loved, and also to hear the high wanting whine peel out of his throat.  

 

John kissed the inside of his creamy thighs, pulling them up above his shoulders and letting his hands caress his hips gently. A small part of Sherlock expected it when John took him into his mouth and started teasing the swollen head with his tongue, but that did not in any way stop the low groan of pleasure or the instant reaction his hands had as they latched themselves onto John’s hair and pulled, not hard enough to dislodge his mouth but enough to tease.

 

After a few minutes, just as Sherlock was beginning to feel himself melting into the mattress and his throat was no longer able to come up with any sound that did not at least somewhat resemble John’s name, he distantly heard the lid of the lube bottle pop open. A part of him felt a twinge of nerves, he knew at least this first time, would be a painful. He’d read extensively on the topic to at least have an idea of what to expect but his stomach still fluttered partly with arousal and partly with nerves. He trusted John, though, trusted him entirely with his mind and body and so he did his best to relax.

 

Just as the first cold touch of John’s lube coated fingers probed against his entrance, the blonde sucked hard on the artist’s cock, effectively distracting him from the initial discomfort. Sherlock tightened his hold on John’s hair, gasping panting breaths and doing his best not to thrust up into the warm heat surrounding him. John just lowered himself even more, taking as much of Sherlock as he could without gagging and bobbing his head back up in rhythmic sucks.

 

Soon enough, after moments of helpless moans and soothing hands and shuddering shivers, John was pushing a second finger gradually inside of Sherlock.

“So gorgeous” John murmured. Sherlock looked down, he did his best not to close his eyes despite the tugging need to be consumed in the pleasure. John’s eyes looked black, helplessly aroused and clearly enjoying the view of a disheveled Sherlock above him. Cocky bastard.

 

Sherlock couldn’t even summon the energy to come up with some snarky or teasing remark before John had taken gone back down to lave his tongue around the sensitive head of Sherlock’s cock, lightly dipping into the slit. He used his free hand to tug lightly at the artist’s balls and before Sherlock knew it he could feel John’s fingers inside him probing deeper and deeper, the initial discomfort almost gone and the pleasure singing at the edges when-

 

Sparks

 

Sherlock surged forward in a spasmic arch as sparks of pleasure trickled down and zinged into his every nerve.

 

“Oh GOD. What-“ gasp “How did you- What did- oh”

 

“Found it then. You Alright?” John raised himself slightly and kissed his hip, letting go of Sherlock’s cock with a filthy wet pop.

 

Sherlock nodded, shivering and giving in to closing his eyes. His hands tugged again at John’s hair desperately, urging him silently to do it again. John did not hesitate to nudge at the sensitive nub again, prompting low groans from the artist, his inky curls sticking to his forehead with sweat and his mouth opening with a silent scream. The blonde didn’t resume his attention to the artist’s cock, knowing Sherlock would not last very long if he did, especially if he was reacting this strongly to solely the preparation. He worked from two fingers onto three into Sherlock with infinite patience, relishing in every reaction from the artist’s inexperienced sensitive body.

 

“John” Sherlock gasped “Please. Now” he breathed, still shuddering helpless and arching toward John, bearing down on the breaching fingers harshly, needing more.

 

“Not yet, love. I can’t have you hurting” John kissed down the inside of his thigh once more, twisting and curling his fingers and essentially driving Sherlock mad. His kisses went down and down until he teasingly bit lightly at one of Sherlock’s arse cheeks before getting increasingly close to his entrance. Sherlock held his breath in anticipation.

 

“Can I?” John breathed

Sherlock opened his mouth but nothing came out

John teased his tongue around lightly, circling only and completely maddening the artist, “please” he breathed

 

“Oh god.. yes. Yes, please J-John I.. I” he couldn’t finish his thought before john was licking a broad stripe against his puckering entrance enthusiastically. They both groaned in unison, the reverberations from John’s throat to his mouth and into Sherlock’s body prompting the latter to gasp even more harshly.

 

After several hazy moments of this John took pity on Sherlock’s visibly wrecked form, his words had long stopped making any kind of sense, and his cock was on the verge of bursting, angry red and leaking copious amounts of pre-come onto his flat stomach.

 

John finally rose himself onto his elbows and crawled back up Sherlock’s body, peppering him with kisses and soothing words all the way up until he could kiss him, Sherlock’s legs instinctively wrapped around his waist and he tipped his body up offering himself fully to the model.

 

John’s heart swelled as he momentarily pulled away from the kiss and watched Sherlock’s debauched face, closed eyes and parted lips in the haze of their kisses and touches, implicitly trusting John fully and completely with everything he is. 

As much care as John had given him, the first breach into his body was still quite painful, his eyes drawing shut immediately with the overwhelming feeling of the pain/pleasure and his mouth opening in surprise.

 

John went slowly, letting Sherlock’s body adjust and whispering soft words into his ear, Sherlock did his best to focus, but caught only strands and bits of the sentences; “gorgeous”, “perfect”, “Yes”, “Amazing”… it was enough for the artist, with just those he could feel his tension melt away as he experimentally bore down onto John’s cock and felt himself be filled even further. More pleasure than pain, now, rippling down his spine. 

 

Soon enough John was gently rocking them together, holding the man he cared so much for in his arms tightly and feeling him hold him just so in return. The pace steadily picked up, no rush but after long loving moments John was snapping his hips forward onto Sherlock, burying himself deep and loving the low groans and gasps he drew from the artist, the low ‘more’s the high yesses, the breathless ‘John’s.

As the need for _more_ grew so did the increasingly filthy whispers, the shuddering sighs, the stuttered ‘ah’s drawn from their throats. The desire to soothe the ache to feel each other pulsed between them as their bodies glided sensually against each other.

 

Sherlock came first, long and hard clutching John so tightly he was sure he would leave bruises but John didn’t seem to care. He felt the pleasure build from deep within his groin and erupt feverishly. He saw white beneath his eyelids as he tensed, leaving him shattered in the consuming aftershocks.  John followed not much later with a groan, shivering as Sherlock’s body had tensed around him and made everything so much tighter, so much more real.

 

 _He_ had _Sherlock_ beneath him, he was now utterly and completely _his_ … trembling in his arms, crying out his name. Just that realization triggered his own orgasm and he came deep inside of Sherlock’s body.

 

He slumped down, caught by Sherlock’s waiting warm arms and strong flat chest sheathed in a thin layer of sweat. The kept on holding each other, caressing hands to sides and arms and through hair in comfort and reassurance. Eventually John had move away and out of Sherlock’s body, drips of come following soon after, much to John’s unexplainable pleasure.

 

“Hi” Sherlock whispered, his eyes dropping closed with exhaustion. He gave John the smallest, sweetest smile, probably unaware of how soft and vulnerable it made him look. He looked utterly perfect.

“Hello, love” John sighed, raising his hand to Sherlock’s cheek and smoothing his thumb across the cheekbone.

 

“That was- I… you…thank you” the artist sighed, his cheeks already flushed but managing to darken a shade at the admission. He closed his eyes, shifting closer to John’s body and being immediately engulfed by the blonde’s strong arms and tucking his head beneath his chin to kiss lightly at his neck.

 

“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart.” John kissed his temple, unaware of Sherlock obsessing over the word _sweetheart_ and feeling happy warmth fluttering in his stomach as John’s hands stroked down his back and back up. “But that was in fact, _incredible,_ there are no words”

 

Sherlock hummed in agreement, feeling himself sinking down into sleep. Before he could his warmth and the arms around him were suddenly gone, cold air in their place. He blinked sleepily, trying to figure out what had happened.

“As much as I’d love to sleep... we have to clean up. ‘Less you want to wake up all sticky and uh…” John furrowed his brow trying to find a proper way to say it.

 

Sherlock snorted at John’s awkwardness “Fine.” He allowed the blonde to rush to the bathroom for a couple of wet flannels and promptly wiped the mess on (and in) himself and John did the same before slumping back down onto the bed and pulling Sherlock close again, the latter resting his head against the model’s chest.

 

They stayed in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes, letting sleepiness drift back in and the warmth of the bed to diffuse into their bodies once more.

A thought, however, popped into Sherlock’s slowly whirring back into place after the mind shattering sex. “John?” he whispered into the darkness.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“The phone call... in class earlier today. What was that about?” He recalled John becoming upset and thinking it was about Sarah, but now after having obviously dismissed the thought due to the overwhelming amount of contradictory information he had no idea what could have possibly made John react like that. He probably could have deduced it any other time but right now in the sleepy after moments his mind was still mostly at rest, as if he had painted John for hours and hours on end.

 

“Oh,” John sounded uncomfortable. “It was... It was my sister. Harry. I had invited her to have lunch so she could meet you this Saturday. We hadn’t seen in other in ages but... I wanted her to know you and you, her. Whether I want it or not she’s a part of my life and I care about her…”

 

“But?” Sherlock prompted

 

“She…” John took a deep breath, composing himself “She relapsed. Of course, she did. I thought I’d learnt to never trust Harry with important moments but she panicked. She’d grown used to both of us being such colossal disappointments that the thought that I was happy… well… I don’t know. I can’t help but think that was it.”

 

Sherlock held John tighter, silently encouraging him to go on.

 

“Anyway… she said Clara finally left her. I guess 10 years of living with someone who does not want to be helped and equally does not try for herself will do that. She called to say she’s going to rehab to get her act together. That this time it’s different. But I’ve heard this all before. I don’t know what to believe”

 

Sherlock looked up, raising his head from John’s chest to meet his eyes. If anything, just the fact that he was holding John in his arms right now was, to him, ultimate proof that anything could get better. That his eternal belief in his fate for loneliness was wrong and if something as wonderful as John could happen to him… great things could happen to anyone. And John of all people deserved only good things.

 

“Maybe... maybe, this time it will be different” he whispered, rubbing a soothing thumb against one of the blonde’s pectorals.

 

 

John looked down at him as if having not expected that answer to come from Sherlock’s lips. But in a moment he saw Sherlock’s thoughts reflected in his eyes, the magnificence of the things one didn’t expect and the realization that things you never hoped could unexplainably and amazingly come to be “Yeah..” he whispered, a small smile on his face “You’re right. Maybe it will be”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading <3<3<3<3 Kudos and comments are as always loved


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello <3! We finally reach the final chapters. This chapter is rather short-- kind of a pre-epilogue if you will. The final chapter (the epilogue) should be posted in about a week.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and following this story with me so far <3<3<3

The flashes of the cameras sparked all around him. Not too many, it wasn’t as if he was a super-star or anything. Then again, this gallery, one he shared with many up and coming artists in London was quite a big deal and the publicists were pouring in. He’d prepared his portraits for months now, the last few which had resulted in his very best works, all his portraits of John. He’d ended up centering his whole section of the gallery on solely him. His muse.

Said muse was behind him, waiting for the interviews to be done. Sherlock turned to look at him, almost pleading for rescue but john just laughed discretely and shot a fond smile. He then motioned to his empty wine glass and made a questioning tilt of his head to which the artist nodded enthusiastically, much to the model’s amusement. Sherlock turned back to the reporters as John went to get them yet another drink (wine as courtesy from the gallery space, much to Sherlock’s delight as he didn’t believe he could have survived this night without alcohol… and John) and did his best to focus.

He forced the most natural smiles he could to the reporters and answered some of their predictable and boring questions, tuning out most of his own answer and answering automatically. It wasn’t as if he hated the gallery, he was in fact quite excited to show his work to the public and the turn-out had been rather good. But he disliked the overwhelming amount of attention, the inane questions and the necessary interaction with people, the necessity to be… liked.  

The questions finally subsided and he scampered off to his section of the gallery, a rather large one where he was pleased to see many people concentrating in, observing and admiring the many paintings of John. _As they should_ , thought Sherlock, _John should absolutely be admired_. Although maybe not as much as _he_ admired him, he added to himself with a smirk. He looked around, expecting to see the familiar blond head and the telltale happy grin around the corner any time now.

John was even more excited than Sherlock to be here, dressed to the nines in a grey suit and blue shirt and tie, his suit had been tailored by Sherlock’s own personal tailor, and with his hair pushed back into a classy swoop. The artist’s heart had skipped a beat at the first sight of him. John had absolutely insisted they stay for the interviews, knowing the more media attention on Sherlock’s work, the more opportunities he could have in the future for solo galleries. Sherlock begrudgingly complied. Where was he anyway?

 “The artist Mr. Holmes I suppose?” a low voice behind him asked

Sherlock turned towards the unfamiliar voice, steeling himself for yet another pointless interaction but knowing it to be necessary for his profession. He smiled as naturally as he could and answered “Yes. I am Sherlock Holmes”

He was met with the sight of a clearly well endowed handsome man, staring at him hungrily up and down and grinning wolfishly. Sherlock frowned slightly, confused by the man’s forward attitude.

“Victor Trevor. Art critic for the Belgravia newspaper” he stretched out his hand expectantly, not taking his eyes away from Sherlock’s neck.

 Sherlock’s eyes widened, shaking his hand begrudgingly but knowing this particular kind of press could push his career faster. They shook hands, the art critic’s cold and clammy, much to the artist’s displeasure.

“Hmm,” Trevor hummed. “So... you painted all of these in the room correct?” he looked around, seeming mildly interested.

“Yes. I did” God he was even duller than the reporters.

“You seem to be able to observe a man’s body well” the critic noted, the wolfish grin back in place and fully revealing his eerily white teeth.

Sherlock opened his mouth, not exactly sure what he wanted to say to that but not expecting him to continue speaking. He did.

“I wonder,” Trevor said “If perhaps you could paint me sometime. I could… pose for you for hours. I’m sure you’d do a splendorous job” he started walking slowly around the room, Sherlock forced to follow, swallowing down his perplexed replies but Trevor just continued talking.

“I see you’ve drawn this particular man quite a lot. He seems to be the very center of the… show.” He snorted and stopped walking, Sherlock almost walking into him. Victor Trevor turned around, looking smug and predatory and stepping closer. “Is he… your cousin or something?”

 Okay. That was enough now. Sherlock opened his mouth again, now fully prepared to scathe and insult this man to an inch of his life, press be damned. John. His COUSIN? He had _snorted_? Called his gallery a “show”? John. His. _Cousin_??

 “Excuse me” a familiar voice now resounded right behind Sherlock, instantly calming his boiling blood and angry words rising in his throat. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m John, the model in the paintings. Sherlock’s _boyfriend_.” Glorious John Watson stepped beside Sherlock, making a point of wrapping a possessive arm tightly against his waist. The critic instantly took a step back, faced with the strong presence of the blonde.

 “And Sherlock won't be taking any new model’s any time soon. Thanks.” He continued, voice tight and clearly aiming to be threatening but not enough to make a scene. Angry John made quite an impression, though. Especially when he forced a pleasant smile on his face. His presence in the room seemed to grow ten times his size and the art critics smug smirk slowly faded away to a displeased twisted scowl.

 “Victor Trevor” the critic gritted out through his teeth, an equally pained grin pulling at his mouth. He gripped John’s hand tightly, John answering with an even tighter hold, Sherlock watching their hands tensed against each other unwilling to give in first.

Finally; they let go, the awkward stretch of silence having gone for a beat too long. Sherlock couldn’t tear his eyes off of John, the intensity of his glare mesmerizing. His eyes seemed darker, bordering on a shade of almost black.

“Right. Well. I have much work to do. It’s been… a pleasure” he rose a brow, turning back to Sherlock and quickly surveying his form once more. “Mr. Holmes” he purred, nodding and licking a slippery pointy tongue to the edge of his teeth. John’s hold on Sherlock’s waist tightened even further.

As he walked away John also turned to watch him leave, as if unable to be satisfied until this man is completely out of their sights. Victor’s head was turned, shamelessly staring lustfully after Sherlock’s back and arse.

John’s hand instantly lowered to cover it, squeezing possessively and glaring at Victor as he finally disappeared behind a corner. Sherlock yelped in part surprise and part giddiness as John’s hand squeezed, feeling so absolutely dazed by the over show of dominance on John’s part. It made his blood boil hot for an entirely new reason. Much more interesting reason. His John. Jealous over him. 

He had never seen John like this, then again no one had ever made such a direct move on to him. John was always around and most people they met instantly assumed (correctly, of course) that they were together. But this reaction was rather… stimulating. He knew now, of course, that they were in an exclusive relationship but hearing him actually say the word boyfriend in reference to himself... it _did_ things to Sherlock.

Sherlock watched with interest as John’s narrowed eyes slowly tore away from the door and he realized his position.

“Oh!” He quickly let go of Sherlock’s arse cheek, clearly noticing perhaps this wasn’t the most appropriate time to be doing that. Not that Sherlock particularly minded. “I’m… I’m sorry, Sherlock. I… I don’t-” he looked at Sherlock now. _Really_ looked, and paused his hurried apology. “Oh” he said again, evidently noticing what Sherlock was sure were rather impressively sized pupils, a strong pulse beating in his neck and dark flushed cheeks. His apologetic expression instantly turned smug. “You liked that?” he murmured curiously, stepping closer and wrapping his arms once again around the artist’s waist.

Sherlock smiled shyly, licking his lips and staring at John with dazed eyes all over. “John,” he said. “That was… magnificent” he breathed out, swallowing hard.

John grinned but looked a bit embarrassed “I didn’t mean to… come on so hard. It’s just... I hated that man. The nerve of him. He actually asked if I was your _cousin_ ” his jaw tightened again at the memory, Sherlock watched the muscles contract at the edge of his throat closely. “He clearly wanted nothing more than to have you all for himself. Well now that’s just..” he frowned deeply again, seeming torn between needing to express a claim on Sherlock and keep his temper under control.

 The artist just bent towards him, unable to help himself any longer and kissed him hard. He felt John’s surprised gasp shift into a soft moan, his hold on Sherlock’s waist tightening as he pried the artist’s mouth open.

“Let’s leave. Now,” Sherlock gasped out when they separated some moments later. Even he could tell that if they did this any longer it would become inappropriate for his public image really fast.

“But- the gallery?”

“There’s plenty of artist’s showing their work I'm sure they won't miss me. Besides, the interviews are done and we’ve been here for more than 3 hours.” He kissed John lightly again, much more softly, lovingly. “Take me home” he whispered.

 He felt John nod against him with a sharp intake of breath, unwrapping his arms from the artist’s waist and taking his hand instead.

They coursed through the large white rooms, dodging the public and the reporters quickly before anyone could call them back. Sherlock was actually quite hopeful that they would get out of there easily without getting interrupted when a tall man with the most expensive suit around stood in front of the main door to block their way.  

“Brother dear, where on earth are you going with such a hurry?” Mycroft Holmes drawled out.

Sherlock stopped short, John almost running into him. “Mycroft.” He hissed “Why are you here?”

“To see your paintings of course. You never do allow me to come into your studio.” He rose an affronted eyebrow

“For a reason. Now move” 

“I was very impressed with your work little brother” the elder Holmes continued, completely ignoring the artist. “You seem to have an… interesting subject” it sounded like a question. Mycroft’s eyes now turned to John, calculating and deducing him with a single sweeping if slightly bored look.

John cleared his throat “Uh… Mycroft Holmes? Sherlock’s brother?” he stepped forward from beside Sherlock’s tense form, not letting go of his hand but stretching out his other in greeting. “John Watson”

“Yes,” Mycroft responded, still surveying the model. He let go of his hand. “I have been looking forward to this meeting Dr. Watson. Apologies for the delay. Sherlock is rather irritable when it comes to his apartment and I had to do a background check on you first.”

“Uhh…” John started. 

“You really shouldn’t leave so early,” Mycroft interrupted turning to Sherlock. “What will the reporter’s say?”

Sherlock sighed dramatically “I’ve given the interviews, taken the necessary pictures and been present for more than enough time. The sales go through my manager anyway so, yes. My boyfriend and I are leaving.” He pulled John along as Mycroft stepped aside, brow risen but not seeming surprised by Sherlock rapid speech.

“It was… nice meeting you” John called back. Mycroft only nodded once, watching them leave together into the darkness of the streets.

 …

 “Do you want to move in?” Sherlock rushed out, not even pretending to go on leading conversation towards it. He had been thinking about this for a while. Whilst he and John had only been in a relationship for 2 months it only made sense. They spent most nights together at his flat, or John’s and both agreed that whatever nights they did not, were unpleasant.  He had thought of asking earlier but had been afraid he was moving too fast, but now right after John’s jealousy over him, he felt safer to ask.

 They were lying together in bed, his head on John’s warm naked chest and the blonde’s hand caressing the sides of his bare torso. There was still a slight gasp  to their breathing, the sex that had ensued after they had burst into the flat finished barely minutes ago.

John’s hand paused when Sherlock blurted out his question, surprised for a couple of seconds before he resumed. “Move in here? Really?” he sounded pleased. 

“Of course. My flat is larger and closer to the school, and you clearly disliked your flat to a certain level judging by the slight scrunch of your nose and stutter in step every time we walk into it and the soft frustrated sighs whenever the hot water malfunctions, yet again. The creases in your shirts are also telltale; ready to pack for whenever you’re staying over. You dislike staying at your own place” he shrugged.

John chuckled “Of course you noticed all of that, you brilliant man”

“So you can move in here? I mean… I understand if… there _is_ another bedroom if you want to have your own”

John kissed Sherlock’s forehead gently “I would love to move in. But don’t think we’ll be needing two bedrooms, love” he teased, nudging at Sherlock’s face to reach his lips.  

“No… I guess not” Sherlock murmured as John giggled. He finally raised his mouth to John’s waiting lips and kissed him slow and soft, tongues meeting and gliding together in a familiar and soothing way.

 

There was no need for hurry. They had time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue will be posted late next week <3!! Thank you so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos <3<3!!!!!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT GUYS. IM EMOTIONAL.

 

It was a quiet morning in 221b.

Sherlock was pacing rapidly around the room, while John sat on his chair reading the paper. Even after months of living together Sherlock marveled at the fact that it was now ‘John’s’. If he was being honest, though, it had been from the moment John had walked into the flat months and months ago that first time, really.

The morning sunlight streamed through the flowing blinds and the soft wisps of summer air fluttered in, delicately ruffling the white silk. The dust motes drifted lazily in the gentle breeze, disturbed only by Sherlock pacing through them now and then.

Sherlock was holding his phone with his right hand horizontally and close to his face as a female voice resounded from it onto the room on speakerphone. The phone call had been going on for quite a while, enough for Sherlock to still be dressed in only a loosely tied dressing gown and boxer briefs, even when noon approached rapidly.

 “I’m so sorry I can’t be there tonight. Will Johnny be there, Sherl?” the voice said excitedly.

“It’s okay mummy, and yes.” Sherlock answered, “But it's John. not Johnny. As I’ve said before” he added exasperatedly. From the corner of his eye, he could see John smirking good-naturedly. John himself was barely dressed more than Sherlock, the domesticity that had settled around them in these past months enveloping them.

“Oh, I just can’t believe my bumblebee has his first boyfriend! And a Model… a doctor… an ex-soldier!” Mummy squealed loudly “How wonderful! I’m sure he’ll be a great father too should you two decide to adopt-”

“MUMMY!” Sherlock squawked, stopping his pacing abruptly and instantly regretting his choice to have this conversation in speakerphone, _and_ in the living room where John could hear their every word. He cleared his throat, “we’ve only been living together for 8 and a half months I think the kid's talk can wait” he said hurriedly, trying to hush his tone as best he could whilst attempting not to be obvious. He felt himself blushing to the tips of his ears in mortification as John looked up from his paper curiously.

 “Did she call just you bumble-”

“JOHN” Sherlock barked. Of all things for John to focus on, that was NOT one he needed to explain right this moment.

 Mummy gasped excitedly “OH! I heard him! Is that him? Can I speak to my son in law?”

 “We’re not married yet, oh my god!”

 “ _YET_?!”

“MUMMY. NO.” The panic rose to dangerous levels in his voice and John just laughed, stood up from his chair, snatched the phone from Sherlock’s hand and clicked off speaker so Sherlock couldn’t interrupt in indignation. Sherlock did his best anyway.

  “Hello, Mrs. Holmes!” John sounded far too cheery for Sherlock’s taste, but the blonde just continued to ignore his scowl of disapproval and resumed Sherlock’s pacing where the latter had left off as the artist just listened. 

 “Oh…. Mummy then” John laughed, ears turning pink “Yes I’m taking very good care of him….. really?..... I’m sure he’s been very busy… I’ll make sure he visits you more often…. of course! He and I would _love_ to visit this summer!” he shot Sherlock an excited look.

 Sherlock face-palmed a few feet away.

 “Oh that’s great!.... yes I’ll be there with him, only as his arm candy of course, I cannot paint or do art at all…… that’s fantastic! I really want to meet you too…. we’ll see you soon then!... Bye!” he passed the phone back to Sherlock, grinning.

He was met with a look of complete betrayal, laced with subtle but not completely imperceptible amusement as Sherlock took the phone from John’s hand and pressed it against his ear.

“Hello, mummy. Yes, mummy… yes I know he’s very nice, _I’m_ dating him….. yes…. okay…. see you then mummy…. goodbye… yes….. I will…. Okay… loveyoutoo…..goodbye” he clicked off the phone and made completely sure it was off before he turned to John.

 “Visit for the summer!?” he cried

“Hey! You’re the one who hasn’t introduced us!” John raised his hands defensively, still grinning and not looking even the slightest bit remorseful. “Besides, you’re set to meet Harry and Clara next week for their ‘back together dinner’ so it’s only fair.” He stepped closer to Sherlock. Taking the phone away from his hand and placing it on the nearest chair (Sherlock’s) before wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Besides,” John continued, “I would love to see your childhood home! And your very first paintings and _baby_ pictures!” John beamed.

Sherlock snorted, of course, John would be interested in such sentimental things. But he had to admit the fact that John _was_ made him feel a bit warmer inside. “Fine,” he agreed, wrapping his own arms around John’s neck, “We’ll go. But you are dealing with the consequences,” he sniffed and made to walk away to his room but John placed his hands on his hips and pulled him back towards his chest.

He snickered, pressing his chest onto Sherlock’s back and kissing his neck softly “Don’t pretend you don’t adore you mum and call her every day anyway” he giggled, the gentle sounds muffles against the curls at Sherlock’s nape.  

“That… has nothing to do with it” Sherlock muttered

John giggled “I’m really excited to meet her, I know how important she is to you.” He pressed his cheek against the artist’s nape, the later feeling the warm exhalation of breath trickle down beneath the thin silk of his dressing gown. “I just can’t believe I didn’t know about bumble-bee” John giggled, tickling Sherlock’s sides softly.

Sherlock huffed in embarrassment and squirmed under John’s teasing fingertips “Childhood nickname…” he paused “I love bees, okay? Sue me”

“Mmmm” John huffed a laugh “I love _you_... my Bumble-bee” John kissed his neck wetly, sucking slightly and pressing himself more insistently onto Sherlock and running his hands down Sherlock’s chest

The artist sighed in pleasure “Mmmn-no time for this now. we need to…. To uh.. uhh... “

“Yes?” John asked innocently, muffled against Sherlock’s hair as he rubbed Sherlock’s quickly peaking nipples through his thin shirt with his fingers.

“The uh...J-John…” Sherlock gasped, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back onto John’s shoulder. John chuckled breathily, his hands now roaming onto Sherlock’s chest and sliding onto his hips, suggestively dipping the tips of his fingers below the artist’s silky boxer briefs. 

“You’re right.” John breathed “No time now”, and with one final loud smack of lips on Sherlock’s jaw he removed himself completely from Sherlock’s back and walked away, turning to see the artist’s gob smacked expression with a giggle “We’ll finish this later. And you can have your revenge for this then” he winked. “For now though,” he extended a hand, which Sherlock stepped forward to reach for, “lets get ourselves changed, and hop into a cab.”

 He kissed Sherlock one last time lightly before walking away and towards their bedroom

“Don’t want to be late to your very first solo gallery, do we?” he called back. Sherlock grinned.

 ….

 

“Okay. Are you _almost_ ready now?” called out John, for what felt like the umpteenth time. Sherlock had been trying out every single suit in his closet for the past hour. The artist had insisted for months that his solo gallery wasn’t quite _that_ big of a deal and he would keep calm about it. But as the date approached John noticed him painting day and night, obsessing over every detail in his newest paintings.

One night in particular sprung to mind, months and months ago…

 They had fallen asleep in each others arms after a quiet night in just after finishing off a case. At the crack of dawn, however, John had woken up abruptly from a nightmare to find the other side of the bed empty and cold. That wasn’t really that unusual considering Sherlock was quite fond of painting at dawn, even more s since he had been offered the gallery space for his first solo-exhibit. But that night, John had suddenly craved the warmth by his side in the remaining veiling of his nightmare.

He’d slid out of bed and slipping on his boxer briefs he padded down to Sherlock’s studio, the only source of light in the dark apartment. Squinting against the brightness he had peered into the room. Sherlock had been sitting in front of his newest painting, staring at it intently. It wasn’t the kind of stare that betrayed the artist’s loss at how to continue, how to convey what he most wanted his painting to. It was a dazed stare. The new painting of John was of the day he had moved into 221b, after he had carried all his bags up the long flight of stairs and had collapsed on the couch, shirt open and panting. Now that John recalled it, Sherlock had stared at him for long moments that day, memorizing John’s figure splayed on his couch.

 John had padded quietly behind Sherlock to observe him painting from a closer range. Sherlock had been staring unblinkingly, eyes wide and wondering. His right cheek was matter with a large stripe of blue paint and his hair was matted different colours from Sherlock’s stained fingers. He had looked intensely adorable.

At this point they had been dating for about 5 months and living together 3 of those. John had kept modelling for Sherlock both in and out of school, less in school now that the students knew about them and neither wanted to be accidentally caught in any sort of compromising position again. The transition into living together had been quite simple, they just… fit. And with every passing day John was more and more sure about one thing…

 At that moment Sherlock had stirred, touching his lips momentarily with his painted fingers and staining his lower lip with green before blinking a couple of times, obviously having felt John’s presence and gaze over him and turned around, surprised.

“Oh. Hello” he’d blinked again.

 John had smiled softly, marveling at the sight of a bemused, sleepy Sherlock trying his best to finish the new painting of him. He’d felt a rush of fondness, of want, of adoration that instead of a greeting or a gentle request to come back into bed to sleep he just murmured the words he’d wanted to for months, for the very first time.

“I love you”.

 ….

 

“Alright. Now, I’m ready” Sherlock walked out of their room with a charcoal black suit and deep purple shirt, no tie. He straightened it with surprisingly steady hands and turned to John.

 “You look gorgeous” John smiled.

 Sherlock’s face lit up, as it always did when John complimented him. “Ready?” he asked

 “Absolutely. Let’s head to your gallery and astound others with how amazing you are okay?”

Sherlock blushed to the tips of his ears and smiled “okay”.

 John started walking towards the door, followed closely by Sherlock.“Wait!” John stopped short, so abruptly in front of a startled Sherlock that almost ran into his back. “Have you had breakfast?” he asked seriously.

 Sherlock frowned “No… It doesn’t matter I ate breakfast yesterday” he tried to dodge John and head towards the door.

 John just pulled him back, gently and into the kitchen “That’s not the same Sherlock! You have to start eating properly. 3 times a day.”

 “3 times a day!?” That was just scandalous. How could anyone eat more than once every few days? “John! N-“

 “Nope. No complaints. Sit down.” John gently pushed Sherlock onto the nearest chair and, coursing a hand through his soft curls on his way, went to prepare him breakfast.

Sherlock reluctantly tried his best to hide his smile.

 …

 Sherlock’s first solo gallery took place in a reasonably large two floored space with with white walls and dark green marble floors. He’d been receiving quite a lot of attention since his shared gallery almost 9 months ago and had been invited to host a gallery here to show and sell his paintings for 3 a three-month period.

 As they walked in, hand in hand, they were instantly met by a chorus of “Mr. Holmes! John! Over here!”

They turned around and saw Molly accompanied by Mike and Sally, who Sherlock was pleased to see had finally dumped Anderson to date a much nicer boy. They were all, predictably, completely unsurprised to see him holding John’s hand.

 Sherlock smiled at them, he himself startled with the sincerity of the joy he felt at the sight of them. After all, the school year was long finished and they wouldn’t be his students anymore. “Hello,” he said. John grinned and approached them quickly, pulling Sherlock alongside him to greet them properly.

“Guys! How’s everything?”

 They talked for a while, the students expressed their regret at not having figure drawing lessons with Sherlock anymore, something the artist had to admit to himself was rather sweet and flattering. By the end of the year _all_ of his student in the class had passed the course, a first for him, and most of them had actually managed to receive rather high grades. Eventually, they had to leave the students to mingle around, as Sherlock had to give out the usual interviews and pose for photographs.

 In the midst of this, they drank wine and chatted and John held him close the whole night, either holding his hand and squeezing reassuringly or keeping an arm safely around his waist. All night he introduced himself to everyone as his boyfriend and was consistently charming and charismatic. Sherlock couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

 In the midpoint of the night, as Sherlock was able to zone out a little during the interviews he surveyed his surroundings. The turn out was even better than he had expected, even after gaining a bit of a following after the last gallery. He was pleased to see people recognizing John delightedly and asking him about modelling experience, as he enjoyed the light in John’s eyes at being valued and looked up to. His John. His reason of being here. His muse.

 Sherlock tuned off the voice of the interviewer, knowing the questions he would ask and having the answers prepared in the tip of his tongue as he focused more on the people around. In the distance Sherlock saw his brother, who he reluctantly admitted to himself was at least a little pleased to see. And at the very back he spotted Irene and Kate.

 Irene turned to see him, grinning widely. She made to approach him but noticed the interviewer and nodded to express they would talk later. She surveyed John by his side and looked him up and down with wide eyes before turning back to Sherlock and winking suggestively, a proud grin pulling at her lips. Sherlock couldn’t help the happy smile he sent her way.

 Hours later, they were exhausted. The event was doing quite well but Sherlock really couldn’t wait to take John home and rip off his clothes. John felt quite the same, not having been able to focus properly on quite anything since he’d seen Sherlock walk out of their room in those sinfully tight suit pants and purple dress shirt. They walked slowly through the gallery, people still pouring in and the complimentary wine not even near finishing. The interviewers clearly couldn’t have enough of him and kept interrupting him for more pictures, more questions.

 “I really don’t care much for these events” Sherlock said suddenly

 John looked surprised “Your galleries?”

 “I mean, I like _having_ galleries.” Sherlock said “But there’s so much unnecessary interaction. Look at the art. Buy what you like. Leave. Why do you need to talk to me?”

 John laughed “Oh my goodness you’re hopeless”

 “I’m realistic.” Sherlock countered, already spotting another swarm of reporters in the adjoining room.

 “You’re lovely”

 Sherlock stumbled, blushing ridiculously fast and looking down at his feet. How was he always so surprised by John’s easy compliments? He mumbled something unintelligible in response.

“What was that, love?” John teased, squeezing his hand.

“I said you’re lovely too…. idiot” the artist rushed out. 

John giggled, stopping in place and turning to Sherlock. He looked up at him, pride shining in his eyes at having people finally recognizing how tremendously talented the man before him was. And this was just the start of it. He could see Sherlock’s career stretched before them. The galleries and event he’d get to have. The people they’d get to meet. He was so overjoyed at how Sherlock’s hard work was paying off, how even if the artist denied it he LOVED being here, in his first solo gallery. How in this moment, he loved being Sherlock Holmes.

John wrapped his arms tightly around Sherlock’s waist, creating a sudden safe haven in the midst of the journalists and gallery visitors. Distantly they both heard a couple of snapshots go off behind them from the journalists around them watching them embracing, but they did not care.

The blonde stroked his thumbs softly across the small of Sherlock’s back, warmth growing in his chest and his heart beating almost painfully with how much the cared and loved for this man in his arms. The knowledge of how lucky he was, how lucky THEY were to have found each other, resonating in every shared breath, every second of silent communication through their eye contact.

“I love you, John Watson” Sherlock said suddenly, his voice soft and truthful.

 John smiled, feeling his eyes welling up slightly with the rush of emotion “And I love _you_ , Sherlock Holmes”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. 
> 
> I enjoyed writing this so much!!! Im going to miss writing these two <3<3<3 Thank you so much for reading this, it means so much to me! And thank you to all that left such lovely comments- they make me so happy <3!! I hope you liked the story!! <3<3<3!!!! Thank you for commenting and leaving kudos and I'll see you next time!!!!! I think a potterlock is next in line for me!


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